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SCATTERED LEAVES FROM A PHYSICIAN’S 

DIARY. 



ALBERT Abrams, A. M., M. D. (Heidelberg), F. R. M. S., 

Author of “ The Antiseptic Club,” Etc. 


3 


r 


ST. LOUIS, MO.: 
FORTNIGHTLY PRESS CO. 


1900. 

Y - ^ * 







two copies 


P-ECEl V HO. 

L f°ra, y of COBgrs#* 
Of* ice o f th« 

MAh 2 01900 

Keglttsr of Copyrights 


PZ3 

• A \ (©S 


57377 






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Albert Abrams, M. D. 



Copyright, 1900, by 
Frank Parsons Norbury, 
St. Louis, Mo. 


All rights reserved. 


TO MY WIFE, 

IN WHOSE COMPANY, DURING A TOUR OF THE 
WORLD, THESE STORIES WERE WRITTEN, THIS 
VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY 

The Author. 


SECOND COPY, 

. V“\ v t*b o o 

\ ~\ 


LEAF I. 


“MY FIRST PATIENT.” 


L EARNING how to wait is the initiatory experience in the career of every 
physician. During my apprenticeship to patience as a novitiate in 
medicine, time passed slowly, and I applied myself assiduously to the 
study of complicated diseases, which will occur perhaps once, if at all, in 
the professional life of a busy physician. 

The ordinary diseases, like dyspepsia, bronchitis, colic, and even tooth- 
ache, were dismissed without even a moiety of attention. Much to my 
sorrow, I soon learned that only the rich and influential physician could 
afford to diagnose an obscure disease and call it by its technical term. 

If an unknown physician diagnoses a case of toothache, he tells the 
sufferer it is toothache, but the opulent consultant is privileged to call it 
odontalgia, and regulates his honorarium accordingly. 

Soon I got to be very busy practicing economy, and 1 purchased a book, 
entitled “ How to Live on Five Dollars a Week.” I found the book emi- 
nently practical, and could have followed its precepts very comfortably if I 
only had the five dollars. 

One day when the gastric vacuum was becoming pronounced, and 
when the coloration of my feelings was assuming a cerulean aspect, Mrs. 
Dennis Mulcahy, one of my neighbors, entered the waiting-room of my 
office. I saw Mrs. Mulcahy through the key-hole. I was so perturbed that 
1 hardly knew what to do. This was evidently to be my first patient. I 
didn’t want tolose her, nor did I deem it proper to admit her at once into 
my consultation-room. 

I coughed loudly to assure here that I was in, and then I walked 
stealthily around to the door of the waiting-room, locking it from the out- 
side to be sure that Mrs. Mulcahy would not escape. Then 1 hurriedly re- 
arranged my room. Taking from the book-case some ponderous volumes, I 
distributed them carelessly about my writing desk. I gathered up all the 
cigar stumps, and I gave special prominence to a skull which had done duty 
for over twenty years in contributing food to a friend of mine, who had died 
a confirmed gourmand. Then I coughed again, and then as if talking 
loudly to a supposititious patient, I said, grandiloquently, “My dear sir, l 
appreciate your check of one thousand dollars, which you have given me 
for saving the life of your child, and if you need my services again, why 


4 


MY FIRST PATIENT. 


call on me.” “ Don’t thank me again, my dear sir, this check is genuine 
sincerity, and good day to you.” 

Having delivered myself of these words, with my last fifty cents in my 
pocket, I peeped through the key-hole to note the effect of my language on 
Mrs. Mulcahy. 

She was pacing the room nervously, in evident distress. She must be 
suffering from some nervous trouble. I looked through an index of symp- 
toms very hurriedly, and found that nervous walking indicate some nervous 
disease. I opened the door and admitted Mrs. Mulcahy. 

“ Sit down, Mrs. Mulcahy, and excuse me for keeping you waiting, the 
fact is I was very busy. You are suffering from a nervous affection, Mrs. 
Mulcahy. Your eyes looked distressed, and your pulse is somewhat agi- 
tated.” 

“ Sure its not me at all that schick, dochther. Its me own darlint son 
Patsy.” 

“ Poor little Patsy sick,” I queried, “ why what ails him ?” 

“ Shure its fur you to find out, and if I knew, would I be coming to 
you at all, at all ? Patsy has schwallowed something down his surcofagus, 
so the other dochlher said, and its the viry divil its playing wid his lights 
ever since.” 

•‘Mrs. Mulcahy,” replied 1 with gravity, “if another physician is in 
attendance, it’s against the code for me to visit Patsy.” 

“ Agin the pfwat, did you say ?” 

“Against the code, Mrs. Mulcahy.” 

“ I told you it pfwas not a cowld. but an illumation of his lights.” 

I saw it was useless to discuss the code with Mrs. Mulcahy. She told 
me “that the former physicians were no longer in attendance, and that they 
had given her Patsy up,” and here she wept bitterly. 

I remembered Patsy very well ; a dirty, freckled little rascal with red 
hair. Oftentimes in the bitterness of my heart, when I had cursed my 
fate, and when 1 sought solace in walking' around the neighborhood, I fre- 
quently encountered Patsy. 

He was a saucy imp, generous to a fault, and the pride of the neigh- 
borhood. Everybody liked Patsy, and so did 1. Persuasion was no longer 
necessary, and I accompanied Mrs. Mulcahy to her humble home in the 
poverty stricken district, and after ascending four flights of stairs, I entered 
the sick chamber— a room without a light and a stifling atmosphere. 

There in his little cot lay poor Patsy, feeble and emaciated. Patsy 
held forth his tiny arms, and 1 allowed them to encircle my neck. My eyes 
moistened at Patsy’s almost inaudible entreaty to “ do sunthin’ for him.” 

“ He wanted to play wid de kids again. He wanted to grow up a big 
man, and buy his mammy all de ginger cake she could eat, and all de mer- 
lasses candy she could swallow.” 

There was more genuine sincerity in Patsy’s nature than could be 
found in all the boasted triumphs of philanthropy. Could little Patsy 
divine what passed through my mind at that time, he would have little 
faith in my ability to help him. Three excellent physicians had attended 
him and did him no good, while I, a mere amateur in medicine, was asked 


MY FIRST PATIENT. 


5 


to conjure with miracles. “ The race is not always to the swift, nor the 
battle to the strong,” thought I. 

I hardly knew where or how to begin the examination. 1 recollected 
that my text* book on diagnosis counseled the examination to be made after 
a methodical system. 1 knew the system perfectly at college, but at this 
moment, my mind was a blank. 1 tried to look wise. My professor of 
diagnosis always looked wise when he was perplexed. I thumped Patsy's 
chest good and hard. I thought that was about the proper thing to do. 
Then I looked at his tongue, felt his pulse, looked at his eyes and felt the 
pulsations of his heart. 

Perhaps Patsy had eaten something indigestible, so I took another look 
at his tongue. It was heavily coated, and I called Mrs. Mulcahy's atten- 
tion to it. The good woman observed that Patsy really had a coat, for her 
son Jimmy had an ulster in his throat two weeks back. There remained 
one thing for me to do, and that was to listen to his chest, so I removed a 
stethoscope from my pocket and applied it to Patsy’s chest. I listened long 
and earnestly. I must have pressed the end of the stethoscope very heav- 
ily on my patient’s chest, for he started to yell, until I appeased his injured 
feelings by giving him a cachou, a box of which I always carried with me 
to remove the odor of tobacco, should chance ever permit me to visit a pa- 
tient. 

What I heard over Patsy’s chest only the stars know. The air enter- 
ing his lungs sounded like a storm at sea. The storm was in his lungs, 
and the sea was in my cranium. There was cooing, hissing and whistling 
sounds to be heard. Mrs. Mulcahy was right. Patsy had swallowed some- 
thing. Perhaps it was his toy locomotive. It sounded as much like that as 
anything else. Turning to Mrs. Mulcahy, I inquired if Patsy had among 
his playthings a locomotive. She answered in the affirmative. I observed 
I was following up the proper line of inquiry. “ Where is the locomotive 
now ?” 1 asked with interest. She declared she did not know. Perhaps 
after all, Patsy had swallowed the locomotive, and I felt justified in arriving 
at the conclusion from the facts adduced. 

Patsy had a dilatable gullet. This I knew from my acquaintance with 
him, for I often saw him dispose of a large apple in two bites. Patsy had a 
locomotive, and, furthermore, the locomotive was missing, ergo, Patsy had 
swallowed the locomotive. I recalled the instance of the clever physician, 
who when visiting a patient told him off-hand, that he had eaten too many 
oysters, which fact he had determined by looking under the bed of the pa- 
tient and seeing a number of oyster shells. 

I didn’t communicate my diagnosis to Mrs. Mulcahy, for the latter had 
returned triumphantly to the room with the locomotive in her hand. I 
didn’t know what was the matter with Patsy. If I had been a prosperous 
physician, I could content myself with this knowledge, but I was poor and 
unknown, and a diagnosis had to be made at all hazards. I awoke from my 
reverie by a question from Mrs. Mulcahy, who wanted to know “ what was 
the matter with Patsy.” In reply, I said, “don’t ask me what is the mat- 
ter, but where is the matter.” “ Patsy,” I continued gravely, “suffers 
from the interchange of carbonic acid in his blood for oxygen.” This was 


6 


MY FIRST PATIENT. 


a normal process, but it sufficed to assure Mrs. Mulcahy of the profundity 
of my medical skill. After this admission, I promised to send the necessary 
medicine from the drug store and left the house. 

1 returned to my office at once and looked up my book of prescriptions. 
1 was astounded at the number of prescriptions recommended as specifics 
for the different diseases. If I only knew what was the matter with Patsy, 
l would have no difficulty in making out the proper prescription, and that 
was where the difficulty lay. 

The prescriptions began with abscess and ended with the zymotic dis- 
eases. I thought 1 would take chances on the prescription, so closing my 
eyes with a pencil in my hand, 1 described a circle in the air with my pen- 
cil, and let the latter fall on the index page of the different diseases. The 
pencil struck pneumonia. Turning to the page, 1 found twenty-five differ- 
ent prescriptions recommended for pneumonia. 1 then took my dice and 
threw twice. I threw in all fifteen. So I selected the fifteenth prescription. 

I wrote out the formula, and affixing my signature, brought it to the drug 
store, with instructions to send the medicine at once to the home of Mrs. 
Mulcahy 1 then returned home, happy in the realization, that I had pre- 
scribed for my first patient. 

I had not retired but an hour, when all kinds of fears began to assail 
me. What if 1 had prescribed the wrong medicine ? What if the druggist 
had not compounded the medicine properly ? What it Patsy’s mother had 
given him too much of the medicine ? Such were the queries which rapidly 
suggested themselves to my perturbed imagination. At last I fell asleep, 
only to awake in a few hours with a sudden start, and with the conviction 
hurled at me like a thunderbolt, that the prescription which I had given 
Patsy was for adults only, and that the dose should have been one-seventh 
the amount prescribed. 

My first impulse was to rush, to the house of Mrs. Mulcahy and ac- 
quaint her with my error. No, it was too late ; the medicine had already 
been given. Perhaps Patsy was dead. 1 dare not expose my mistake. It 
was the only hope which would save me from arrest, and perhaps trial for 
murder. I thought I should go mad. God only knows what I suffered that 
night. I didn’t think of poor little Patsy perhaps rigid in death, and his 
grief-stricken parent at his side. I thought only of myself. I saw the gib- 
bet which would usher me into eternity. I thought of my friends and of 
my abbreviated career, and then 1 thanked sweet oblivion, that I thought 
no more. 

The next morning at six o’clock, my landlady had entered my room 
and found me lying unconscious at the foot of my bed. She had summoned 
a neighboring practitioner, who had quickly restored me to consciousness. 
The happenings of yesterday were quickly recalled. Like one in a dream, 
1 dressed hurriedly, prepared to face the doom which awaited me. In a 
mechanical way, 1 reached the street, and the fresh morning air seemed to 
revive me. I walked to the corner of the street where Mrs. Mulcahy lived, 
and then my courage failed me. I peered around the corner stealthily 
where the front door of Mrs. Mulcahy’s house was in full view. I looked 
for the crape, the sign of mourning, and saw none. My courage was mo- 


MY FIRST PATIENT. 


7 


mentarily revived, but I relapsed again into my state of utter dejection. 
Perhaps Mrs. Mulcahy was too poor to buy crape. Perhaps the undertaker 
had not yet arrived, I called a newsboy, and giving him a dime, instructed 
him to enquire if any one had died at Mrs. Mulcahy’s house. I could not 
await the return of the messenger, and I was prepared to steal away, fear- 
ful of learning the worst, when the boy returned assuring me that no one 
had died at Mrs. Mulcahy’s, 1 embraced the boy in the rapture of my exul- 
tation, and left him indifferent to his raillery, that “ I must have wheels.” 

“ Gawd bless you, my darlint docther,” were the words with which 
Mrs. Mulcahy greeted me. “ You have brought out the mather which was 
in the insides of Patsy. That cupping wid de instrooment done him a power 
of good.” 

At first I didn’t catch the meaning of Mrs. Mulcahy’s remarks, but an 
examination of Patsy’s chest made the entire matter clear. She had mis- 
taken my stethoscope for a cupping instrument. I had pressed the stetho- 
scope so firmly on Patsy’s chest, that I had unknowingly opened an abscess 
which had been present beneath the muscles of the chest, and had escaped the 
attention of the other medical attendants as well as myself. The pus from 
the abscess was flowing freely, and it was only a question of time before 
Patsy would resume his functions as one of the terrors of the neighborhood. 

“ Did you give Patsy the medicine ?” I enquired hesitatingly of Mrs. 
Mulcahy. 

“ No,” replied the latter, “the druggist wouldn’t lave it, because I had 
no money to pay for it,” 

1 felt relieved. Patsy eventually got well and 1 presented my bill. 
That was about as far as the bill got. Its presentation brought forth 
the rejoinder from Mrs. Mulcahy that she had heard me thank a gentleman 
but a few weeks ago for a check of one thousand dollars, and surely a phy- 
sician with that amount of money ought not to trouble a poor widow. 

Mrs. Mulcahy was right. God is the paymaster of the poor, and he 
must love them, for he makes so many of them. 

My appetite was as keen as before my attendance on Patsy Mulcahy, 
but his case brought me reputation, and the latter brought me the where- 
with to purchase the necessities of life. If ever I am rich enough to own 
my own carriage I will emulate the example of the fashionable doctors and 
have an escutcheon painted on it, bearing the inscription, 

“Mistakes Often Lead to Fame.” 


LEAF II. 


A SCIENTIFIC COURTSHIP. 


M Y colleague, Dr. Edmond Laidy, had attained the age of forty years and 
was unmarried. He was a clever heart specialist and devoted to his 
profession; he gave little time to social affairs, but when he did go into 
society he had a very peculiar habit of grasping the hands of his lady ac- 
quaintances as if he were feeling their pulse. 

His friends referred this peculiarity to abstraction, and they would fre- 
quently remark that Dr. Laidy was so engrossed in his professional habits 
that he could not forget them even in social life. 

One night he met for the first time, Laura Gage the only daughter of 
Ferdinand Gage, the capitalist. At the time of their introduction, it was 
remarked that he held the hand of Miss Gage longer then was usual with him 
on such occasions. 

That night Dr Laidy dreamed only of Laura Gage. 

When love casts her weapon at such a victim as Dr. Laidy the inflicted 
wound is deep and dangerous. His was not the ephemeral love of youth 
which explodes like a fire cracker, and leaves nought else but desolation in 
its wake, to taunt one forever for the mere folly of an emotion. It was not 
long before Dr. Laidy determined to make an avowal of love to Miss Gage. 

On the eventful evening he said to the lady, “I am a man of few words, 
but 1 will succinctly give you the reason of my visit this evening, I love you 
for many reasons, but one at my time of life must temper his emotions with 
discretion; I therefore propose that our engagement will be a probationary 
one; that if, at the end of two weeks we see no reason to change our minds, 
— you will become Mrs. Edmond Laidy, and I, well— will become a bene- 
dict/’ 

“You have not asked me whether I love you, Dr. Laidy?” responded 
Miss Gage. 

“That was entirely unnecessary, Laura; emotions speak louder than 
words, and I knew you loved me the very first time we met. Am I not cor- 
rect in my judgment?” continued the doctor. 

“You are indeed right, Edmond, 1 love you and will agree to your pro- 
bationary engagement. But tell me, how did you make the discovery that 
I loved you?” 

“I have prepared myself for your interrogation, dearest Laura,” said Dr. 
Laidy. “See,” and he removed from his pocket an illustration of the heart 
showing its nerve connections. 


A SCIENTIFIC COURTSHIP. 


9 


“The ancients were correct in fixing the abode of love in the heart, 
which is responsive to all emotions, notably to that of love. There is a pe- 
culiar rhythm which the heart adopts when love is the emotion which sways 
it. This rhythmic movement is transmitted to the pulse, and the skilled 
physician interprets the sensation by the tactile sense.” 

“People have remarked what they regarded as a peculiarity of mine, — 
that of grasping the hand of a lady as if I were feeling her pulse. This was 
not abstraction, but deliberate intention on my part; it was always my de- 
sire to marry, but until I could find some one in whom I could awaken the 
love emotion I would not precipitate myself into marriage. Need I say more? 
Laura, when I first met you, your pulse eloquently revealed your secret, and 
now that the compact is made, I will say good night, as duty calls me forth 
to visit little Johnny Watts, who is suffering from a bad attack of small pox. 
So good-night, dearest — I will not kiss you — no, I cannot perform that func- 
tion until to-morrow night, when 1 will send you my engagement present, 
which will be a choice bottle of antiseptic mouth wash; then dearest, we will 
revel in a r kiss, and bid defiance to the ubiquitous microbe.” 

The secret motive of Dr. Laidy in making his engagement to Miss 
Gage one of probation was directed by discretion. He had observed in his 
practice that one of the most potent factors of unhappiness among married 
people was sickness^ Unmarried people enter the holy bonds of matrimony 
without considering the question of health, and he always feared making an 
alliance with some woman who might prove herself physicially and mentally 
incompetent. 

The physician of the Gage family was Dr. Preston, an enemy of Dr. 
Laidy. To apply to him for information relative to the health of Miss Gage 
was entirely out of the question. He could not ask Miss Gage to submit 
herself to him for examination of her heart and lungs. That is why he ad- 
vised the engagement on probation, as a rational means of learning some- 
thing about her physical condition. He also knew that he must not betray 
the object of his investigations. 

When Dr. Laidy next visited his betrothed, he noticed with dismay that 
she did not receive him in evening dress, as he wished that night to investi- 
gate her respirations as an index to the condition of her lungs. 

“Don’t you know, Laura,” he remarked, “that a decollete dress would 
become you very well.” 

“If I do not forget,” she responded, “only yesterday you admired me 
because I did not wear a decollete dress.” 

“Yes, I remember 1 did say that,” he answered, “but then you were 
not betrothed to me. Now I am concerned about your future health. 
Woman, you will pardon my professional excursion, breathes with the upper 
portion of her chest, and a decollete dress leaves that portion of the thorax 
unincumbered, and therefore contributes towards proper inflation of the 
lungs.” 

“To-morrow I will be prepared to follow your sanitary advice,” 
she said, thanking Dr. Laidy at the same time for the interest which he took 
in her well being. 


IO 


A SCIENTIFIC COURTSHIP. 


The rest of the evening was spent in discussiij^tht oiology of the 
cladothrix dichothoma. After imparting a sterile kiss on the antiseptic lips 
of Laura he returned to his home. ' 

The next evening Laura. Gage greeted the doctor in decollete costume. 
The greeting over, the physician removed his watch, and gazing at the 
anatomically correct chest of his betrothed began to count her respirations. 
Laura regarded his actions as peculiar, and she ventured to enquire what 
he was doing ? 

‘'Nothing, my dear, only contemplating the grandeur of nature,” the 
abstracted doctor replied. 

For one hour he kept track of her respirations, and the movements of 
her chest ; executing his observations under various conditions. On one 
pretext or another he made her stand, then walk rapidly around the room 
until she really believed that her future life was to be devoted to the exper- 
imental investigations of Dr. Laidy. 

She was glad when his visit was at an end, while he secretly congratu- 
lated himself that Laura Gage had perfect lungs. It remained for him to 
investigate her heart. To do so it seemed necessary for him to bring a 
stethoscope — this was impossible. He must rely solely on his unaided ear. 
This was unscientific, he argued, for some slight murmur of the heart might 
be present and escape detection. 

For this reason he spent the rest of the night in grave anxiety, fearing 
that an examination without a stethoscope would not be crucial. The fol- 
lowing evening he was less formal in his greeting. A little more cordiality 
would not compromise him, for did he not find that Laura's lungs were in 
sound condition? 

Even Laura was surprised at his cordiality, and this feeling was accen- 
tuated when he encircled her waist with his arm, and told her to-rest her 
head on his shoulder and breathe gently. 

Placing his ear to the region of her heart he was lost in abstraction. 

“ Edmond, dear,” she murmured, “ is this not bliss ?” 

She repeated the utterance, but Dr. Laidy was not aware that she 
spoke, and then in an abstracted way he said : 

“ Diastolic and systolic tones clear, no ACCENTUATION, and rhythm 
perfect.” 

“Are you dreaming, Edmond ?” she said, as he unconsciously delivered 
himself of this technical harangue. 

“ Dreaming, dearest, why no, why do you ask?” 

“ Because,” she answered, “ you seem to forget me in your art ; will 
it always be thus, Edmond ?” 

“ No,” answered the doctor, now fully aroused from his soliloquy. 
“ Never again will I lose myself in your presence in the intricacies of my 
art.” 

He felt that he could say this much, as he was satisfied that the chest 
organs of Laura were in sound condition. 

That evening Dr. Laidy decided that on the following day he would 
make his betrothal final. Never stake anything on the status of the mind ; 
its vagaries are manifold, incessant and vacillating. One moment it bears us 


A SCIENTIFIC COURTSHIP. 


ir 


in its migrations to the dizzy altitudes of supreme happiness, only to dash 
us in the next minutt + o the deep abyss of despair. 

On the evening oi his return to his home after visiting Laura he be- 
came interested in an article from the pen of a German investigator. 

The contribution was entitled “ Howto Prognosticate Longevity by a 
Microscopical Examination of the Blood.” 

According to the calculations of this investigator, if a certain reagent 
wt r e added to a drop of blood under the microscope a depression would form 
on the surface of the red blood corpuscles, and that the greater number of 
depressions thus developed, the longer would be the life of the individual 
from whom the blood was removed. Thus if five depressions developed the 
person would live five years ; if three, three years ; two, two years ; and 
if only one depression were present the death of the person could positively 
be predicted within one year. 

Five hundred cases were cited in support of the theory. After reading 
the article, Dr. Laidy sought to dismiss the subject from his mind ; try as 
he would, the idea could not be conquered. It recurred to him constantly 
that an examination of Laura’s blood would positively establish the duration 
of her life. There was something in the German theory that was so posi- 
tive. An ordinary examination of an individual might inform you whether 
the organs were healthy, but never before had science so advanced that 
you could tell how long a person would live. 

Physicians are the most credulous beings alive, they will allow almost 
anything to reach their mentality. If a patient were to secretly indulge in 
the use of a patent medicine he never could expect pardon for his insuffer- 
able stupidity from his medical adviser ; yet the very adviser swallows 
with alacrity all the stuff that is parcelled out to him by contributors to 
medical journals. 

Had Dr. Laidy only exercised the circumspection employed by the 
average man, not the physician, he would have hesitated before accepting 
as truths the observations of the German scientist ; he would at least have 
waited for confirmation of the investigations by others. 

When Dr. Laidy visited Laura the next time he brought his micro- 
scope. When they were alone he anxiously enquired whether she would 
like to see a drop of her blood under the microscope ? 

“ How thoughtful of you, Edmond, 1 shall be delighted to accompany 
you in this excursion to the realms of infinitesimal ; shall you want the 
blood from my fingers ?” 

“ Thank you,” he answered, and quickly thrust a sterilized pin into 
her digit ; he allowed a drop of the precious fluid to fall on a glass, and 
after adding a drop of reagent to the blood he quickly placed it under the 
microscoper where he sat in contemplation for a few minutes. 

“Aren’t you well, Edmond ?” Laura anxiously enquired, as she ob- 
served the pallor of his face, for at that moment he had discovered only one 
depression on the surface of the red-blood corpuscles, and Laura was 
doomed to die within the year. 

With deep sorrow and anxiety depicted on his countenance, he told 
Miss Gage “ that he regretted that their engagement must be severed.” 


12 


A SCIENTIFIC COURTSHIP. 


He would not tell why, but begged her to remember, “that the parting was 
to him a most painful one.” 

Without a further word of explanation he gathered his microscopical 
appurtenances and left the house. 

Dr. Laidy made anxious inquiries daily about the condition of Laura’s 
health. From all sources he learned that she was in perfect health ; not- 
withstanding these reports he was observed to shake his head ominously, 
as if to say the Damocletian sword might fall at any time. 

A few months later, Laura’s engagement to John Wilson, the attorney, 
was announced. Dr. Laidy deplored the fate of poor Wilson. If he could 
only communicate his discovery, and advise him of the calamity that was 
in store for him, he would willingly do so, but he was confronted with the 
fact that the betrayal of his secret meant a hideous disclosure of the mean 
advantage which he had taken of Laura under the guise of friendship. 

Thus months rolled by and still Laura lived, to the chagrin and discom- 
fiture of Dr. Laidy. “ Why should she live?” soliloquized Dr. Laidy, in his 
quieter moments. He felt aggrieved; he felt as many other physicians feel 
when their prognostications are not verified. It was not they, but their art 
which had erred. 

Physicians forget the deficiencies and limitations of their art, and they 
regard in consequence its faults as their own. 

Two years after the happy marriage of Laura Gage, the latter called at 
the office of Dr. Laidy; she briefly expressed the object of her visit, — it was 
to offer some of her blood for a poor woman— one of Dr. Laidy's patients, 
who had met with a serious accident. She had heard that transfusion would 
be practiced, for which the blood of some healthy person was sought. She 
volunteered the donation. Dr. Laidy cheerfully accepted the offer, provided 
the blood would respond to a microscopical examination. 

It did, most thoroughly, and to Dr. Laidy’s consternation there were at 
least a hundred depressions on each red-blood corpuscle. 

That night the following missive was addressed to Dr. Carl Ruprecht, 
author of the article, “How to Prognosticate Longevity by a Microscopical 
Examination of the Blood.” 

“My Teutonic and Beer Loving Colleague: If you again suffer from 
cacoethes scribendi , please take a magnanimous dose of strychnine, and be sure 
to avoid the subsequent use of antidotes. 

“ Your contribution was a bloody prevarication, conceived by an astig- 
matic intellect. Your article amply illustrated the time-worn apothegm, ‘he 
lies like a physician.’ Let us take devious routes throughout life, so I may 
not add murder to the virtues of Dr. Edmond Laidy.” 


LEAF III. 


“A MODERN aESCULAPIUS.” 


I NGLEBY DRAKE and I were companions in our early youth. The fates had 
decreed that Ingleby was to become a physician, When he came to bid 
farwell to this earth, he summoned me to his side and bade me to recount 
to the world the vicissitudes of his career, lest other misguided creatures 
seduced by the specious glamor of hope and promise should be inveigled into 
a hopeless entanglement of deception and ignominy. 

Thus have 1 become his biographer. Poor Ingleby, you deserved a 
better fate. Heredity and fortuitism conspired to make you a victim of their 
i preversity. 

Ingleby Drake was the eldest of seven children. His parents resided in 
one of the rural districts of Southern California. His father was a poor, 
though industrious farmer, whose tireless energy contributed nought else 
to his family but the actual necessities of life. His mother contributed her 
moiety to the family possessions, which was made up of love for her husband 
and devotion to her children. Her life was a beautiful example of immola- 
tion on the altar of devotion. She fittingly illustrated the supremacy of 
altruism over egoism. Such women are the real heroes of epics. I can re- 
call this noble woman in the autumn of her life harnessed to the cares of a 
growing family, scintillating like a ray of sunshine in the midst of her trials 
and tribulations. Ingleby was indeed opulent in the possession of such a 
mother. Education he had none. Like an intelligent animal, he was 
trained to perform a few primitive acts. His mental automatism enabled him 
to read with difficulty, to spell inaccurately, and to figure grotesquely, yet, 
withal, ingenuous Ingleby was contented. His tardy cerebration fortified 
him against ambition and he knew nought of the world, save that which 
was revealed to him in his sylvan retreat by communion with his virgin 
being. 

Under the guidance of intuition, he insulted neither his brain nor his 
stomach, thus anxiety he had none, but of sleep and good digestion, a plen- 
itude. Happy intuition ! how few of us in this age of reason are endowed 
with the priceless possessions of Ingleby ? 

The greatest hardship of civilization is to be civilized. The improved 
condition of man known as civilization is a terrible conflict between reason 
and intuition, with no legitimate reason for the struggle. 


14 


A MODERN /ESCULAPIUS. 


Ingleby was a perfect specimen of physical strength. He was not such 
a type as would have inspired a Phidias or Praxiteles. He was remote from 
beauty. He was and looked the conventional country lad, destined for no 
other object in life than to develop the resources of the soil. Remove him 
from his rural environment and he would become a perverse creature, 
swayed by the capriciousness of his fancy and the importunities of an effete 
civilization. This was to be the fate of Ingleby. The latter had an acquaint- 
ance, Nicholas Hunt by name, who was somewhat older than Ingleby. 

Nicholas Hunt was formerly a herdsman by occupation, but by dint of 
rigid economy, coupled with ambition, he was enabled to take a course of lec- j 
tures in a medical college in one of the Eastern States. Thanks to the lati- 
tudinous conscience of the medical faculty, abetted by the fees of Nicholas, 
the latter was easily shifted into the hallowed ranks of the medical profes- 
sion. Nicholas Hunt, the quondam sheep herder, was now in the possess- 
ion of a sheep-skin, and blessed with all the deficiencies of a thorough med- 
ical education. “The Rapid Transit College, ” from which Nicholas was 
graduated, licensed him to practice medicine. He accepted the chair of 
“ Commercial Medicine ” in his Alma Mater, and complimentary to his pre- 
vious occupation was made “ Curator of Sheep-skins.” The professorship , 
of commercial medicine was by no means a sinecure. On the contrary, it 
meant, that the occupant of the chair, to use an emphatic phrase of an eru- 
dite member of the faculty, “Had to get out and hustle.” Prof. Hunt 
looked about him for recruits. He bethought himself of the companion of 
his youth, simple Ingleby, in his home in Southern California. 

He sent Ingleby the following letter, the original of Which may be | 
found in the archives of “ The Smithsonian Institution :” 

“ SQUASHVILLE, Nov. 22, 1892. 

My Deer ingleby : 

i know you dont remember Me in my Disguise as Dr. Nicholas Hunt, 
i, yes i, limpy nick, who used to tend sheep with You. i amm professor of 
cummercial medisin in the rapid Transit Medical College, dement Depart- 
ment of the squashville university. I now wear a plug hat, glasses, broade 
clothe suite, a cleane shirte and write perskripsions in Latin. My success 
is great. Yesterday, i preeskribed 4 45 patients and 3 are still alive 2 day. 
how is that 4 sucksess ? Well to get down to bisness as we saye inn the 
classiks. We Kan make a Doktor of U. Think of it, Ingleby Drake, M. 
D. physishian & Surgeon, how dose that strike U ? say it Aloud, ingleby 
drake, M. D. physishian & Surgeon. Aint that fine? Don’t it sound 
Bully ? well, u can become a reale live Doktor, and awl u need is $100. 
Think of it, ingleby u will B. allowed by Lawe 2 Handle the Lives of peo- 
ple without any questions askede 4 the unpretenthouse some of $100. 
Wats the goode of Killing yourself with Hard work for 1$ a day, wen u 
Kan Kill some one else and get payed fur It ? in a few years, you wille B 
riche with paytients. 2 Burn, if they Kare about Bing Kremated, just im- 
agine ingleby your walking alonge the street in a plug hat & a cleane 
shirte & Bowing casual like 2 youre acquaintences. i heare u say 2 
yourself i aint got any edicashin. i cant be a doktor. thats wear you waye 


A MODERN AESCULAPIUS. 


15 


off. people may B very Wise, wen it comes to saving money But wen they 
get sick, there Fools, people are peculiar, they would rather riske there 
Lives than their $s. Wen they get sick they want a Man withe sum Miss 
terry stuck 2 him. Y in your Kase, U would have as we say in the 
classiks, a Post-mortem cinch, or as you say, a dead cinch. Because they 
wood say, you was a natural borne physishian wile some other Phellowwho 
had to study like thunder, they wood saye he had 2 study bekause he 
didn’t Know nuthing about medicine, ingleby dont have 2 study, hees a 
natural borne physishian. Btween Me & u, ingleby, poets are borne not 
maid But the facultie of the rapid Transit medical College is proude of the 
distinction thatt at thaire intitushion, physishians are maide & not borne. 
Answer 2 me at wunce. 

& remember your distinguished friend 

Dr. Nicholas Hunt, M. D. 

Physcian, Surgeon & a lot of other things which i Kant right downe 
Because i havent any more payper.” 

After the receipt of Prof. Hunt’s letter, Ingleby with the aid of the 
village school-master and a dictionary, was able to read it. The 
letter left Ingleby no opportunity to waver in his purpose. He would be- 
come a physician. He would help the poor and afflicted. If his dear mother 
needed his services, or his brother Ben, how willingly would he serve 
them. He was no longer the unambitious, ingenuous youth of the country 
village. 

What his intelligence lacked, his imagination supplied. He already 
saw his name emblazoned on the escutcheon of medical science. He never 
tired of gazing in mute admiration at a sign which the village painter had 
facetiously painted : 

INGLEBY DRAKE, M. D., 

PHYSICIAN & SURGEON. 

Ingleby’s family shared his enthusiasm. When Ingleby retired at 
night he gave the sign a conspicuous place in his bed-chamber, When he 
awoke, it was the first thing which attracted his attention. That sign was 
his fetich. It owned him body and soul. The yokels got to calling him 
Doc, until all that remained between Ingleby and the realization of his 
dreams was about three hundred dollars, the sum required for tuition fee, 
transportation and living expenses while attending the college at Squash- 
ville. Mr. Drake, the father of Ingleby, wrote to an eminent surgeon in 
San Francisco, soliciting an opinion on the qualifications of his son to be- 
come a practitioner of medicine. This eminent surgeon had some years 
before, performed gratuitously a surgical operation on Mrs. Drake, since 
which 'time her husband considered the surgeon to be under the deepest 
obligations to him. In a week Mr. Drake received the following reply : 


i6 


A MODERN /ESCULAPIUS. 


San Francisco, January io, 1893. 

Mr. Jonathan Drake : 

IDear Sir : — I am in receipt of your communication respecting the 
advisability of sending your son, Ingleby, to a medical college. Your son 
is no more fitted to practice medicine than a large number of physicians. , 
The degree M. D., does not confer a knowledge of medicine on the recipi- 1 
ent ; it merely entitles him to practice the art. You say, “ he may ornament 
medical science.” In this, sir, you are mistaken, it will be the science: 
which will endeavor to ornament him. Unfortunately, medical art has 
nearly exhausted its embellishments on such crude recruits like your son. If 
my advice be heeded, let Ingleby remain at home in the sweet innocence of 
his environment. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and this is 1 
especially so in relation to medical knowledge. A little knowledge of med - 1 
icine is a sharp-edged tool, and must be handled with infinite circumspec- 1 
tion. Hoping, sir, you will respect my disinterested advice, I subscribe | 
myself Very sincerely, 

Munfrey Winn. 1 

• 

“ The idea,” remarked Mr. Jonathan Drake, after the perusal of Dr. | 
Winn’s letter, “ Why, Dr. Winn is an ingrate to think that he can monop - 1 
olize the practice of medicine ; why he’s jealous of my noble son, Ingleby, I 
who is a born physician.” 

These remarks addressed to farmer Higgins, a neighbor, met with his I 
concurrence, and it was forthwith decided that Mr. Drake should mortgage 1 
his farm for three hundred dollars, the amount necessary to enable Ingleby j 
to complete his medical education. Mr. Drake saw in Ingleby what many j 
another fond parent saw in a child. He saw subjectively. He saw not the 
actual son, but the vision of that son as he would like to see him, and he 
eventually saw that son in no other light. Ingleby Drake was destined to 
study medicine, and he was truly deserving of God’s blessing — for he surely 
needed it. 


CHAPTER II. 

I was walking along one of the side streets of the city of C., about one 
year after bidding good-bye to Ingleby Drake on his departure for “ The 
Rapid Transit Medical College,” when my attention was directed to a sign 
of gigantic proportions, bearing the following inscription : 

Dr. Nicholas Hunt, M. D., 

Physician and Surgeon, 

Specialist for Diseases of the Nose, Throat, Eye, Ear, Mouth, Lungs, Gul- 
let, Teeth, Ligaments, Eye-Lashes, Nerves and all other Diseases. Special 
attention paid to acute and chronic diseases, especially to wind-colic. Office 
Hours— All the time. Please ring the Bell and enter without Knocking. 


A MODERN /ESCULAPIUS. 


17 


My first impulse was to visit Nicholas and to congratulate him on his 
accession to the noble art about which Hippocrates and the learned Celsus 
loved to write. I hastily ascended the interminable stairs leading to his 
office, and entered a small reception room. Like the average physician’s 
waiting-room, it defied the law pertaining to the cubic air ordinance. It 
contained a couple of rickety chairs and a dilapidated table, on which rested 
with the tranquillity of old age, three ancient magazines and a bottle of dirty 
alcohol, in which was immersed what looked like a tumor. The general 
appearance of the room was filthy in the extreme. I did not wait very long, 

; for another door was immediately opened, and there appeared before me 
Dr. Ingleby Drake. 

Dr. Drake’s greeting was very effusive. He asked me to be seated, 
and directed me to a chair which would have succumbed to a burden less- 
cumbersome than mine. He observed my reluctance to be seated, and 
jocularly remarked, that the chair only had three legs, one of which he had 
already successfully amputated as a prelude to his first operation. Poor 
Ingleby looked the picture of despair. His bloodless lips and emaciated 
form informed me more eloquently than words, that genteel starvation had 
1 already claimed him for a victim. He bemoaned the sad fate which was in 
store for him. He saw in death the only relief for his sufferings. On that 
I, very day he saw some prospects of a temporary release from starvation. A 
1 child in the neighborhood had broken its arm, and Ingleby was hastily 
| summoned to the case. While Ingleby was engaged in bandaging the 
broken extremity, Dr. Quickdeath had entered the room. Dr. Quickdeath 
was formerly Professor of Medical Ethics in the school from which Ingleby 
had graduated, and of course he got the case. A shrug of the shoulder and 
an evanescent reference to youth and inexperience carried conviction to the 
anxious parents, and Dr. Drake was once again relegated to the waiting- 
list. 

While we were engaged in discussing the future, the door leading to 
the waiting-room was suddenly opened, and a tall individual entered. He 
wore a long, scraggy beard, a shiny broad-cloth suit, a dirty shirt, and car- 
ried in his hand a dilapidated pair of gloves. Dr. Drake introduced this 
gentleman as his distinguished colleague, Professor Nicholas Hunt, and 
after inviting his eminent confrere to stand, there being no other unoccu- 
pied chair in the room, he appealed to Professor Hunt to aid him in his dif- 
ficulty. “ That just like you, Ingleby, always wanting help.” 

“ Didn’t I get you your degree, Ingleby,” said Prof. Hunt. “ The fact is,. 
Ingleby, I am too busy. I've had three confinements today, a case of 
measles and a couple of broken legs, and I thought 1 would just run in and 
tell you how busy I am.” 

“ Does your success bring me food,” replied Ingleby. 

“ Now, there you go again,” answered the loquacious Prof. Hunt ; 
'‘everything comes to him who waits. Didn’t I wait ? Didn’t I suffer 
what you now suffer, until fortune smiled on me. Coffee and sinkers was 
good enough for me in my early struggles, but now its beefsteak, if I want 
it, three times a day. All you want to do,” and he cast a significant 
wink at me, “ is to become a professional abortionist.” 


i8 


A MODERN /ESCULAPIUS. 


“ Become a professional abortionist; why, what is that ?” inquired the 
unsuspecting Ingleby.- 

“Why, Ingy, you’re not up to the times; its practicing feticide, that’s 
what it is,” replied Prof. Hunt, sententiously. 

“ Practice feticide,” 1 cried in alarm. “ Is it possible, that before me, 
an utter stranger, you exercise no scruples in referring to your nefarious 
practice ? Is it possible, 1 continued, that you would inveigle my simple 
friend, Dr. Drake, into committing murder for the sake of mere suste- 
nance.” 

“Comedown from your trapeze,” said the distinguished member of 
the medical profession, “and let me tell you, sir, that in your daily newspa- 
pers, your boasted arbiters of morality, the advertisments of the profes- 
sional abortionist are as common as those of any other calling. These 
advertisements,” he continued, “say openly what they mean. They are 
read in your homes by your wives and children.” 

I answered in reply, that Prof. Hunt misrepresented the truth ; that 
the Public Moralist and the TTaily Hypocrite, the two leading dailies of the 
city, instead of yielding their columns to such immoral advertisements, 
were really the very instruments which sought to inhibit a vice which was 
criminal, and repugnant to the moral sentiment of society. I advanced as 
an instance, the example of the two great dailies expending thousands of 
dollars to bring to justice a professional abortionist, who had caused the 
death of a poor young girl. 

“ Seeing is believing,” said Prof. Hunt, as he removed from the capa- 
cious pocket of his coat a copy of The Public [Moralist. “ Here are adver- 
tisements which don’t lie,” and he pointed significantly to the following 
advertisements extracted verbatim et literatim from the advertising columns 
of the Public Moralist : 

A BLESSING to ladies— Instant relief for 
monthly irregularities (from whatever 
cause) by the most experienced ladies’ 
pnysician, who restores all cases at once 
by an improved method, superior to oth- 
ers; ladies will save time and money; be 
assured of honest treatment by consult- 
ing the doctors before consulting else- 
where; home in confinement; treatment 
warranted; advice free. 


A SUGGESTION— Ladies in trouble, com- 
municate with Dr. . 


ALL CASES of monthly irregularities, 
from whatever cause, restored at once; 
safe and sure; travelers helped without 
delay; refined home in confinement; my 
celebrated remedies for monthly suppres- 
sion never fail; for guaranteed relief 
consult the doctor before going else- 
where; advice free; French sure pills. SI. 
Mrs. Dr. . 


A NEW PROCESS; no medicine or in- 
struments; patients who come to my of- 
fice use capsules and call them a hum- 
bug; every woman her own physician; all 
female troubles, no matter what cause; 
restores— always in one, day; can be sent 
and used at home; all cases guaranteed. 


A MODERN AESCULAPIUS. 


19 


ALL MONTHLY sickness, from whatever 
cause, restored in a tew hours; safe and 
sure at all times when others have fail- 
ed; every case guaranteed; my old-time 
remedies never fail: years of experience; 
advice free; terms reasonable; home in 
confinement. Mrs. Dr. . 

The evidence of Prof. Hunt was overwhelming. He proved conclu- 
sively to me, that the newspaper press was the staunch ally of the profes- 
sional abortionist. I could not tolerate the company of this vile creature 
any longer, and deplored in my hurried departure, that 1 did not remain 
with poor Ingleby Drake as a mentor in his hour of real danger, for well 1 
knew, that an empty stomach overthrows the barriers of temptation. 


CHAPTER III. 

Ever since 1 left Dr. Drake in company with that arch-fiend, Prof. 
Hunt, l felt a sense of impending danger. 1 realized that Prof. Hunt could 
influence Ingleby in any direction, whether for good or evil, and I was sure 
it was for evil. A knowledge of medicine is a dangerous toy when wielded 
by an amateur. Ingleby did not even attain the dignity of being an ama- 
teur physician. He was a mere puppet. Could Prof. Hunt wish Ingleby 
to commit murder by the administration of some potent drug ? Had he 
some motive for removing some individual — perhaps a rich uncle, an obnox- 
ious wife, or an illegitimate child? Did he select unsophisticated Ingleby 
as his tool ? These were the questions which agitated my troubled 
Thoughts. 

A master mind in medicine might execute crime without detection, but 
a mere dabbler in medicine, such as I knew Prof. Hunt to be, would plan 
crime so cruelly, that detection was a foregone conclusion. 

I had spent the night in restless sleep, assailed by horrible visions of 
my poor friend, Ingleby Drake, and it was a relief to read at the breakfast 
table in The Daily Hypocrite, that the bomb had burst. 

I had always anticipated something, and I was not disappointed. The 
Damoclean sword had fallen. My suspense was now over. 1 confess that 
I read the head-lines of the tragic occurrence with a sensation of relief, 
mingled with sorrow. Relief for myself, such is selfishness ; sorrow for 
my friend, such is charity : 

ANOTHER VICTIM OF THE ABORTIONIST. 


MARY RULEY, OF TULENE, DIES A HOR- 
RIBLE DEATH. 


TRAGIC END OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN, 
AIDED BY THE COMMERCIAL IN- 
STINCTS OF A PHYSICIAN. 


20 


A MODERN /ESCULAPIUS. 


THE MURDERER, DR. 1NGLEBY DRAKE, A 
PROMINENT PHYSICIAN OF THIS CITY. 


THE VICTIM AT THE MORGUE — THE 
ASSASSIN IN JAIL. 

These were the head-lines. In the editorial column of The Daily Hypo- j 
crite, of the same issue, I read the following : 

“Our beautiful city was again shocked yesterday afternoon by the ■ 
occurrence of a murder, the nature of which is repellant to every moral cit- . 
izen of our commonwealth. We have been unremitting in our denunciation 
of a crime which permits lust to be gratified without penalty, and shame j 
concealed by antenatal murder. Notwithstanding our sincere opposition, | 
feticide is on the increase. It menaces the future of our glorious country, j 
deteriorates our race, arrests population and sacrifices the health of our 
women. The vice is so common, that its venom is being deposited into J 
every fibre of our body politic. It has its origin in many motives, notably, j 
the impulse of passion and the concealment of crime. Let us not waver in ; 
bringing the murderer to justice, and exemplify our determination to check ■ 
this most unholy of crimes.’' ‘Virtue alone outbuilds the pyramids ; her j 
monuments shall last when Egypt falls.’ 

“Verily,’’ I thought, “ The Daily Hypocrite is a great paper to be able 1 
to conciliate the masses, for another column literally teemed with the j 
announcements of professional abortionists, telling in unequivocal language 
the simplicity and advantages of feticide.’’ 

As I arose from the breakfast table, a note was handed to me. It was I 
from Dr. Drake, imploring me to visit him at the county jail. There in a i 
cell like a caged animal, sat the remnants of Ingleby Drake. His blood- 
shot eyes, disheveled hair and woe-begone expression, pictured the inten- 
sity of his mental suffering. He looked at me intently for many minutes, 
like one in a dream. Neither of us spoke a word. Passing his hand across 
his forehead, like one awakening, his first word was, “mother.’’ He 
wished he was back again in his humble home, the honest country boy, 
deaf to the glamor of promise, the hopelessness of ambition. “ It was fate 
that selected me as a victim,’’ he cried in despair. 

“ Not fate, Ingleby,’’ 1 ventured to say. Not fate, but the laxity of 
our laws which permitted the creation of fungoid institutions known as 
medical colleges, where irresponsible fiends in the guise of educators, lure 
victims to their fold, and inculcate the lessons of crime. They cannot pun- 
ish you if they know the truth. I will proclaim, Ingleby, to all the world, 
that you are innocent, that their legalized schools, not you, are responsible 
for this murder.’' 

“Say no more, my good friend,’’ responded Ingleby. “Good-bye, 
and God bless you. Tell the world the history of my unhappy life. I may 
never see you again,’’ and with tears in my eyes, and one hurried look at 
the withered and disconsolate face of Ingleby Drake, I hastened away. 


A MODERN /ESCULAPIUS. 


21 


I did not see him again. The next day he was found dead in his cell* 
His finger-nail and a lacerated radial artery at the wrist told the story — he 
bled to death. 

His mother died of a broken heart. A few days later his father suf- 
fered an apoplectic attack, from which he never recovered. The family 
was dispersed and the old farm sold by the mortgagee. The citizens of the 
village have erected a humble monument to the memory of Ingleby, and the 
epitaph tells the story of his life : 


Dr. Ingleby Drake, 

Age 24. 

SHEEP-HERDER, FARMER, PHYSICIAN. 


Born and bred in innocence, seduced by specious promise, educated in 
crime, and died by self-destruction. 



LEAF IV. 


A MYSTERY OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


TT. r E WERE seated at our club one evening in complacent enjoyment of 
W our regalias and cocktails. We were discussing everything in general, 

fand medicine in particular. 

Physicians do not always, as is popularly supposed, carry with them 
the burdens of their patients. They relegate that duty to the latter with 
the utmost composure. 

“ That appendix, Brooks, which you removed for appendicitis this 
morning/’ said Dr. Wallace, one of our prominent oculists, “ was there 
anything in it ?” 

“ No,” replied Brooks, “ only a cool thousand. I have another opera- 
tion on the tapis tomorrow afternoon, which promises to be of great inter- 
est,” continued Dr. Brooks. “ 1 am going to separate that double-headed 
monster down in the dime museum. When first I proposed the operation, 
they put their heads together and refused, claiming that two heads were 
better than one. They wouldn't think of separation, as they were fondly 
attached to each other. Yesterday, however, they got to quarrelling on a 
most trivial matter, and what do you suppose, gentlemen, it was ?” 

“ I am like the fellow who took the emetic,” suggested our funny col- 
league, “ he gave it up, and so do I.” 

“ Well, 1 will tell you,” resumed Brooks, “ John, that's one of them, 
and Jack, that is the other one, began discussing the civil war. John 
stood for the North and Jack for the South. The discussion on such a sub- 
ject couldn’t of course lead to amicable relationship-, so they decided in their 
case at any rate, in union there was no strength, so tomorrow they are 
going to separate.” 

“ I wouldn’t perform that operation, Brooks, if I were you,” said Dr. 
Wallace, “ Remember, Brooks, ‘ Those whom God has joined together let 
no man put asunder.’ ’* 

We had another drink at the expense of Wallace, and we pursued our 
badinage. 

“ Have you noticed how pale and enervated Williams has been looking 
lately,” said Dr. Finn, suddenly breaking the playful raillery. “That 
man is a remarkable surgeon and very successful, but somehow or other, I 


A MYSTERY OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


23 


think he is not destined long for this world. His valet tells me, that he is 
awake at all hours of the night; that he eats hardly anything, and seems 
very much depressed. Gentlemen,” continued Dr. Finn, "we all like 
Williams, and we must do something for him.” 

“ Perhaps no greater misfortune can befall a physician,” suggested Dr. 
Wallace, “than sickness. For like the mythical Tantalus, there is a plen- 
titude within his range of vision, but he cannot reach it. He must perish, 
because he has carte blanche in the selection of his physicians, and to quote 
an apposite axiom, ‘ Too many cooks spoil the broth.’ Like you, Finn, I 
have also noted the change undergone by our colleague, and he is certainly 
laboring under some severe mental strain. 1 have never seen any one ex- 
* ecute an operation as rapidly as he, and you must admit, gentlemen, that 
. in my time, I have witnessed many notable operations. 1 can regard his 
ambidexterity in no other way than by pronouncing it phenomenal. He 
usually operates with his right hand, holding his own in a rather awkward 
position, but in his last operation, which 1 saw him do only yesterday, he 
employed his left hand with the same dexterity as the right, holding his arm 
in the same awkward position as the right.” 

“ Pierre,” said Dr. Wallace, addressing the attendant at the club, “has 
Dr. Williams been at the club this evening ?” No sooner were the words 
uttered, when the door of the room was forcibly opened, and there stood 
before us Dr. Williams. He looked pale and haggard. His clothing was 
disarranged and his hair disheveled. He dragged himself with difficulty 
1 toward a chair, and no sooner was he seated, than he fell to the floor un- 
I conscious. It was many minutes before restoratives revived him. In re- 
moving his collar, we observed that a guard protected his neck, it was 
fastened to a cuirass. Both were made of metal, and so colored that only 
close inspection revealed the artifice. 

The neck guard showed five shallow indentations, four on one side of 
the guard and one on the other. The sleeves of his coat were torn, and 
! when the latter were removed, it was seen that the forearms were pro- 
! tected by vambraces. We looked at each other, as to fathom the meaning 
| of this strange state of things. Dr. Williams relieved us of suspense, by 
suddenly exclaiming, “ Thank God, gentlemen, I am among friends. I can 
bear this strain no longer,” pursued Williams, “ for fifteen years I have 
martyred my being for a crime committed by another. You, gentlemen, 
will bear witness to my narrative, for whatever fate befalls me, 1 declare to 
| you I am innocent. Finn,” said Williams, turning to his colleague, “re- 
move the arm guards.” After the latter were removed, he continued 
addressing Finn. “ Here is my pocket case, you will find a sharp bistoury, 
forceps, and everything else which is necessary. I want you to perform a 
trivial operation. Pierre, a glass of whiskey.” 

Having drank the latter, he directed Dr. Finn to make an incision in 
; the forearm, two inches above the annular ligament, between the tendons 
of the flexor carpi radialis and palmaris longus. During the time Dr. Finn 
was executing his bidding, Williams seemed the most unconcerned person 
in the room. “ That was very neatly done, Finn. Now raise the super- 
ficial fascia with your forceps, and search for a little roll.” The latter was 
easily found. “ Do the same on the other arm, Finn, and you will be sim- 


24 


A MYSTERY OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


ilarly rewarded by finding another roll/’ Finn did as he was told, and true 
enough there was another roll, similar to the one removed from the other 
arm. f ‘ Just one more suture, Finn, I want healing by primary intention. 

1 want no scar to remind me of the miseries of the past. Now the bandage, 
Finn. 1 thank you. Once more my arms feel comfortable. These rolls 
are of paper, enveloped in an impervious covering/’ Removing the latter 
he disclosed the paper. “ The paper,” he exclaimed, examining it closely, 
*• is as perfect as it was fifteen years ago, when I first placed it in its rest- 
ing place. I have heard you frequently comment, gentlemen, on the awk- 
wardness of holding my arms during an operation. You have now been 
offered an explanation. When the rolls were first placed there, I felt 1 
could no longer execute the muscular movements so necessary in surgical 
work, and that 1 would be compelled to renounce my ambition to become a 
surgeon. Time and constant gymnastic movements of the muscles of my 
hands and arms have overcome the difficulty. My ambidexterity has been 
purchased at the expense of slavish devotion to a system of muscle train- 
ing, for I believe, gentlemen, even had I no deformity to surmount, I would 
have nevertheless devoted myself, like a skilled pianist, to an education of 
my muscles, for the surgeon must, like the juggler or pianist, make his 
muscles submissive to his will. 

“ To furnish you with a history of the rolls, I must recur to my stu- 
dent days in Paris. I was a student then at the Ecole de Medecine , inspired 
to work by such famous men as Hayem, Sappey, Charcot, Fournier and 
Peter. Ah 1 what* a galaxy of lights,” said the narrator reminiscently, 
“ they were all stars, and every one did shine. Unlike many other Amer- 
ican students, who sought companionship among their own countrymen, I 
was determined to lose my national identity for the time being. My com- 
panions, also medical students, were Baillon of Lyon, Edmond Baillon and 
Jean Legroux, from nowhere, for 1 never knew. 

“ The latter was a curious specimen, who would have adorned a path- 
ological museum, but among rational beings he was like a fish out of water, 
fiis mental composition was of the most capricious nature. He was alter- 
nately morose and jubilant, charitable and vicious, studious and dissolute ; 
in a word, he was a freak. Baillon was remarkably diligent for a medical 
student. His prospects were brilliant, and he was related to one of the 
agreges professors. Baillon and 1 had already passed successfully our ex- 
aminations, and all that remained between us and the coveted degree was 
the presentation of our theses. Although Legroux had been engaged longer 
than we in the study of medicine, he had not even passed a single examin- 
ation. 

“ Where he obtained his funds no one knew. At one time he would 
have an abundance of money, while at another, he would have none. 
About this period, Paris was in a ferment over certain mysterious murders. 
The victims belonged to the demimondain. In one week three of these 
unfortunate creatures were found in remote cul de sacs of the city, with no 
mark of evidence beyond five indentations in the neck, four on one side, 
and one on the right side of the neck. The indentations in all instances 
were similar in depth, form and position. The hand of the assassin, for it 
was undoubtedly a hand, which had accomplished the murders by suffo- 


A MYSTERY OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


25 


cation, must have been extremely small, and it was for this reason that two 
women were arrested on suspicion. Baillon, Legroux and myself made 
these murders the subject for frequent discussions. The strangler, sug- 
gested Baillon, must have been dominated by a spirit of revenge, while 
Legroux maintained, that the motive was for purposes of robbery. He for- 
tified his position of the argument so ingeniously, that we were compelled 
to admit the correctness of his conclusion. On the day of the last murder, 
we directed our steps to the famous morgue of Paris, where the professor of 
medical jurisprudence was to deliver a lecture and perform an autopsy on 
the last victim. 

“ The autopsy-room was small, and access could only be secured by 
special cards of admission, which Legroux was fortunate enough to obtain 
for us. The professor, in the picturesque and epigrammatic diction of the 
French savant, discoursed on the phenomenal features of the assassination. 
* The hand,’ said the professor, ‘ which has effected the murder was dimin- 
utive and powerful. The hand belonged to a woman of diminutive stature. 
I know, gentlemen,’ continued the lecturer, ‘ that such crimes are not often 
committed by women, but let us recall the words of Victor Hugo, God took 
his softest clay and his purest colors, and made a fragile jewel, mysterious 
and caressing — the finger of a woman ! then he fell asleep. The devil 
awoke, and at the end of that rosy finger put — a nail. For purposes of 
demonstration,’ proceeded the lecturer, ‘ 1 will ask every student to ap- 
proach the cadaver and encircle the neck with his hands.’ 

“ Up to this time I observed that Legroux was the most interested 
spectator, but no sooner had the lecturer announced the demonstration, 
when he turned an ashy hue, and would have fallen to the floor had it not 
been for the support lent to him by Baillon and myself. Each student 
approached the cadaver in turn and made the manual movement alluded to 
by the professor. All had made the demonstration excepting Legroux, and 
it was not until then that Baillon and 1 had noted his absence. 

“ We regarded his conduct as most singular, but neither of us at that 
time disclosed our suspicions to each other. That evening we found 
Legroux in a brasserie in a dreadful state of intoxication. For the first 
time since our acquaintance, we remarked the dissimilarity between his two 
hands. The right hand was phenomenally small, whereas the left hand 
was of normal proportions. Why had we never remarked this before can 
only be attributed to a neglect of the powers of observation. Legroux was 
too intoxicated to recognize our presence, so we left him, determined at the 
end of the week to remove to some other habitation. When we returned 
to our quarters, we discussed until an early hour in the morning the epi- 
sodes of the day. Baillon recalled to my mind a fact which had hitherto 
escaped me. Legroux had frequently in our conversation astounded us 
with his knowledge of the language, customs and religion of the Hindoos. 
We recalled his dark complexion, slender figure and pleasing countenance 
and manner. ‘ Perhaps/ suggested Baillon, ‘ he is a thug/ My knowl- 
edge of thuggism prevented me from accepting this belief. His ancestors 
may have been thugs, I replied, and heredity may have asserted itself in 
him, but the religious assassins of India never murdered women. It was 
against all rules. 


26 


A MYSTERY OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


" Let us say nothing about our disclosures, Baillon, said I, the evi" 
dence at our command is only presumptive anyway, and ‘ murder will out/ 
Then we retired to rest, but only to unrest. 

“Students, especially in Paris, must have their escapades. Baillon, 
although a thorough student, was no exception. He formed a liaison with a 
grisette. Legroux was also enamoured with the same woman. 1 pleaded 
with Baillon to relinquish his rights in favor of Legroux. That man, I 
cried in despair, when I found Baillon obdurate to my entreaties, will ac- 
complish his purpose. Employ means fair or foul, you cannot contest the 
matter with him. Poor Baillon, 1 grieved for him. Perhaps the same fate 
awaited him as the unfortunate creatures whom we had seen together at 
the morgue only a few days before. 

“As I had anticipated, Baillon and Legroux quarrelled, and they ex- 
changed blows. The result which I had anticipated was sure to follow. In 
two days we were prepared to leave our quarters. In the meanwhile, I 
did not allow Baillon to quit my sight. On the morning of the day set 
for our departure, I went to hear the famous Charcot at the Salpetriere, 
the Mecca for the study of nervous diseases. 

“ Immediately after the lecture the chef de clinique handed me a note. 
It was from my landlady. She directed me to come home at once. Baillon 
was very sick and was not expected to live. I jumped into a passing fiacre, 
and directed to be driven to my address in all possible haste. When I en- 
tered the house all was confusion. With tears streaming down her cheeks, 
the landlady informed me between her sobs, that Baillon was taken sud- 
denly ill after breakfast with an attack of vomiting and fainting, and that 
he was now unconscious. She had summoned a neighboring physician, 
but he had pronounced the case hopeless, leaving him to be cared for by 
Legroux. 

“ 1 lost no time in reaching the apartment of Baillon. He was breath- 
ing stertorously, and was oblivious to his surroundings. Seated at his bed- 
side was Legroux applying effusions to his forehead. The diminutive right 
hand of Legroux seemed more conspicuous than ever. I could hardly re- 
strain myself from throttling the murderer, and thus ridding the world of 
this fiend incarnate. A sardonic smile lit the features of Legroux. I asked 
him for an explanation of the tragedy. He could give none. ‘ Baillon was 
suddenly seized with a fit of illness after I had left him in the morning. You 
were the last person with him,’ said Legroux, maliciously, ‘ you know, 
perhaps, more about his sickness than 1/ 

“ Do you mean to thrust your diabolic crime on me, I said, with acer- 
bity.” 

“ If you chose to so interpret it,” replied Legroux, “ it is no fault of 
mine.” 

“Fiend,” I cried aloud, “you are in league with the devil, and this 
time you cannot escape the guillotine. Leave us, and summon a priest, 
Baillon must receive extreme unction, according to the rites of the church/" 
Legroux had left us but fifteen minutes before Baillon recovered conscious- 
ness, but only for a moment. He whispered the words, “ MEURTRE, RE- 
GARDEZ L’ESTOMAC.” The murderer who is he, the stomach, where shall 
I look ? I cried distractedly. Baillon did not hear me ; he relapsed into un- 
consciousness, and in a few minutes he breathed no more. 


A MYSTERY OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


27 


Legroux returned in an hour with the priest. “ My good father,” said 
I to the priest, “ Baillon, whom you regarded so highly, no longer needs 
your ministrations, he is in heaven.” “And may God have mercy on his 
soul,” replied the faithful servant of God. “ Legroux,” said I, when we 
were alone, “ you know more about this matter than you dare to tell.” 

“ Have a care,” responded Legroux quietly. '* There are many mys- 
terious paths that lead to death,” and to the guillotine, I interposed quickly. 
“ I shall see that the death of Baillon is avenged.” 

“Remember, my young American,” he ventured to reply, “ never 
incur the enmity of a Legroux. Accusations are easy, proof difficult. 1 
have also my suspicions. I will submit my evidence when the proper time 
arrives. You will observe that I am more charitable than you. We will 
go together and witness the autopsy on our friend, and with you, I swear, 
his death will be avenged.” 

The autopsy was set for the following day at noon. In the interval 1 
was harrassed by all kinds of misgivings. I knew not what the morrow 
would bring forth. Perhaps Legroux would accuse me as the murderer. 1 
dare not recall the untold agony which I suffered that day. I thought I 
should go mad, 1 already saw myself an inmate of Bicetre. What proof 
had I that I was not the murderer ? The morrow came. Legroux was al- 
ready at the autopsy-room^ calm and collected. What a contrast to my 
miserable being. 

The student of physiognomy would not have hesitated to select me of 
the two as the assassin. My desire to see the assassin brought to justice 
was usurped by the ignoble impulse that the murderer should go unpun- 
ished. Yes, gentlemen, I regret to confess it, anxiety of self had branded 
me as a coward. The autopsy revealed nothing. In such cases the stom- 
ach is removed and sent to the public analyst for a chemical examination of 
its contents. 

Legroux and I met again in the laboratory of the chemist. The latter 
opened the stomach only partially, and emptied its contents into a small 
vessel. He would announce the result of his examination on the following 
da'y. To my query, whether I could take the stomach, he answered in the 
affirmative, and wrapping the organ in a piece of cloth, I left the laboratory 
with the package in my pocket. I returned to my room. I gave no thought 
to Legroux. The last words of Baillon, “ murder, look in the stomach,” 
left their impression on my mind. With feverish anxiety, I laid open the 
stomach with a bistoury. It contained nothing. I was prepared to cast 
the stomach away, when something unusual hidden in the folds of the 
stomach attracted my attention. I seized it eagerly. It was a small roll 
of paper. Instinct, it must have been that, which prompted me to look 
around, and there standing behind my chair was Legroux. His face was 
contorted and presented a deathly pallor. 

That face haunts me still. It has haunted me for fifteen years, awake 
or asleep, that vision has never escaped me. In a moment I felt the grasp 
of his hand about my throat, you see the mark on my throat still, they will 
never be effaced. That was all I remember. When I regained conscious- 
ness, the sun was streaming into my room. There by my side on the floor 
lay Legroux, his left hand tightly clutching something. 


28 


A MYSTERY OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


With difficulty I opened his hand and removed the roll of paper, which 
I had extracted the previous night from the stomach of Baillon, Legroux 
was lying in a pool of blood. He was not dead, for I could hear him 
breathe. The explanation of his presence and the blood was not difficult. 
The bistoury which 1 had used in opening Baillon’s stomach was yet in my 
hand when he attempted to strangle me. It must have entered his jugular 
vein, for the wound on ihis neck corresponded to the anatonic positon of 
that vessel. 

With great difficulty 1 reached the street, eager to escape from the 
scene of so much misery. My first thought was to learn what the roll of 
paper contained. I entered a cafe, where I selected a private room. Nerv- 
ously I unfolded the roll of paper, and on it was written in the handwriting 
of Baillon which was unmistakable : 

“ Jean Legroux, 

Dec. 4, 1882.” 

Baillon had thus revealed his murderer — Jean Legroux. This paper 
was the only evidence I had of my innocence. At that time I did not think 
of employing it against the assassin. I thought then only of a place of 
concealment. That place my friend, Dr. Finn, has, under my guidance, 
found this evening. It was too large as one piece to be deposited under the 
skin, so I cut it in half, and after wrapping each piece in an impervious 
covering, made incisions in either forearm, directing a fellow-student to sew 
the wounds thus made. I left Paris that very day, after learning from the 
chemist, that the results of the analysis were negative. From Paris I went 
to Heidelberg, where I took a course in surgery under that celebrated mas- 
ter, Czerny. 

One evening when I was returning from a kneipe in the celebrated 
university town, 1 was passing through a little alley leading from the Haupt- 
strasse to the Anlage, where I resided, when I felt somebody clutch at my 
throat. That clutch was unmistakable. Legroux still lived. With rare 
presence of mind, I seized my pistol from a convenient pocket, and leveling 
at the head of my enemy, threatened to shoot him. 

He relinquished his grasp, and falling on his knees, coward that he 
was, begged me to spare his life. I knew that he would haunt me as long 
as he lived. It was his life or mine. I would have it, if only for the sake 
of my future peace of mind, killed the cowardly cur on the spot, but the 
thought of my mother in her distant home, came to me like a vision, and I 
suffered the wretch to depart. 

Soon after, I got the instrument-maker Wolte, in Heidelberg, to make 
for me a guard for my neck and forearms, which you have seen this even- 
ing, for I knew not how soon the assassin would assail me. My life was in 
my neck, my honor concealed in my forearms. Soon after the occurrence 
in Heidelberg, I returned to San Francisco. Everywhere 1 went the vision 
of Legroux was before me. When I did not see him in reality, I saw him 
in my disordered imagination. Of late he has been more persistent than 
ever in tormenting me. He has even levied blackmail. He has threatened 
by a letter, received only a week ago, that unless I gave him a thousand 
dollars, he would encompass my destruction, either by death or disgrace 


A MYSTERY OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


29 


within a month. Of course I did not reply to his communication. On the 
contrary, I was resolved that if Legroux ever attempted my life again I 
would shoot him down like a dog, whatever the consequences might be. 

This evening as I was returning from the house of my patients, I felt 
the same old clutch about my throat. Fortunately his powerful grasp was 
impotent against the guard which I wore around my neck. I sought for my 
pistol, but before it could be used, Legroux had escaped. 

When Dr. Williams had finished his narrative, the attendant an- 
nounced a gentleman who wished to see Dr. Williams at once. 

“ Shall I get his name or card, sir ?” said the attendant. 

“ No, Pierre, that is unnecessary. Show him up.” 

In a few minutes the door opened, and a dark complexioned individual 
of slender figure, entered the room. 

“ My God, gentlemen !” exclaimed Williams, “ it is Legroux, the mur- 
derer of Edmond Baillon.” 

“ Not I, but you,” said Legroux, bowing politely, “are the murderer of 
Baillon. You will pardon me, gentlemen, for this intrusion, but I have 
come to enter a formal complaint against Dr. Horace Williams for the crime 
of murder committed in Paris on the 4th day of December, 18,82.” 

“ Jean Legroux, here is the paper written by Baillon, proving you to 
be his assassin,” said Dr. Williams triumphantly. 

“ The paper,” replied Legroux, losing his self-possession for the first 
time; “ where is the paper ?” 

“ Here,” replied Williams, “ in my hand is the roll swallowed by Bail- 
lon.” 

Legroux rushed at Williams like a wild animal, and tore the roll from 
his grasp, and placing it in his mouth, faced the colleagues of Dr. Williams, 
who had come to his assistance. 

“ Well, gentlemen, I defy you all, I have swallowed the roll. Williams, 
where is your proof now ?” 

Suddenly Legroux was observed to stagger, and he fell dead at the 
feet of Dr. Williams. 

An autopsy on the following day revealed the presence of the roll of 
paper in the stomach of Legroux in a position, as remarked by Dr. Will- 
iams, similar to that when found in the stomach of Baillon. 

No poison could be detected in the stomach contents. An examination 
of the roll of paper under the microscope demonstrated the presence of crys- 
tals. These crystals eluded chemical analysis, but a solution made with 
the crystals when injected under the skin of a large dog, encompassed the 
death of that animal in a few seconds. 

The chemist assured us that such powerful drugs of an alkaloidal na- 
ture could retain their toxicity for years. 

“ You are a lucky dog, Williams,” said Dr. Hill after the completion of 
the autopsy on the body of Legroux. “ The poison held by the rolls of 
paper swallowed by Legroux was derived from the stomach of poor Baillon, 
and it was the poison given to Baillon with murderous intent which encom- 
passed the death of Legroux. If you had not enveloped the rolls of paper 
in an impermeable covering before placing them under your skin, you 
would long ago have been numbered among the unnumbered dead.” 


LEAF V. 


THE IMAGERY OF LOVE. 


r pHE professor of Paleontology was sitting in his library engaged in writ- 
1 ing a novel. He did so for diversion. He was eminently practical and 

inveighed against the sentimental trash which was distributed by 
romancists. 

His novel was to be modern and real. Before him on his writing table, 
was a passage from a modern novel which was as follows : 

“Adolphus hesitated before he took the hand of Rosemonde, when the 
latter heaved a gentle sigh. This was the signal for action. Slowly dis- 
engaging his hand from the divine creature, he allowed his arms to encircle 
her supple form, placing her head upon his manly bosom, he allowed it to 
oscillate in measured unison with the rhythmic action of his heart. Then 
both sighed and uttered sweet inanities to each other.’ ' 

“ Such rot,” soliloquized the professor. Here are two creatures, Adol- 
phus and Rosemonde, who would be known in real life as Jack and Mary. 
This Jack called on Mary and hesitates before he takes her hand. 

In matters of the affection mused the Professor, “ he who hesitates is 
lost.” No man of rational instincts would have hesitated for a moment. 
Then the romancist allows a gentle sigh to escape the divine Rosamonde. 
He is extremely obliging even to permit that much. The Jack of fact, un- 
like the Adolphus of fiction, would have compressed Mary with such vehe- 
mence, that she wouldn’t have a chance to sigh, and then to gently remind 
her that he loved her, would have fractured a couple of her ribs. 

Then the professor transcribed in the language of reality, the remainder 
of the passage. “Seizing Mary's head, he thumped it against the upper part 
of his thorax, between the third and fifth ribs on the left side. There he 
allowed it to remain until he was able to get enough air to oxygenate his 
blood. Having effected this object with trained intelligence, he allowed Mary’s 
head to thump in accord with his cardiac contractions and diaphragmatic 
movements. Then they both breathed and ate caramels.” When Professor 
Fulter had written the foregoing lines, he contemplated himself in the look- 
ing glass with the greatest satisfaction, proud of the fact that he would at 
last attain eminence in the realms of literature by his fin de siecle novel. He 
would have resumed writing had it not been for a gentle knock at the door. 
A creature resembling a man entered. His body protruded forward at an 
uncomfortable angle and he carried his arms akimbo. What looked like a 


THE IMAGERY OF LOVE. 


31 


cuff was wrapped around his neck and his body was swathed in garments of 
the latest fashion. 

In a word, the creature was a dude. In an effeminate voice, he recited 
his tale of love for the professor’s daughter, Urania. He had come hoping 
to be allowed to ask for Urania’s hand. 

“ Certainly,” interrupted Professor Fulter, “ you may be permitted to 
ask for anything, but may l ask why you only want one hand and what 
you intend doing with it. You have been reading too many novels, Awkins, 
and your whole organism is tainted by them. If you loved my daughter 
in the real way, you would have told me so, but come, I must not be harsh 
with you, I appreciate your embarrassment, and beneath your grotesque 
appearance there may lurk something of real value. Awkins, I believe your 
name is Clarendon Montague Awkins,” proceeded the professor; “ have you 
ever read my work on heredity ?” 

Before Awkins could answer, the professor resumed. “ I don’t 
suppose you have, Awkins, 1 don’t suppose you have, cigarette smoking 
and trying to wear your monocle occupy too much of your time. On 
the first page of that book you will find a quotation from Voltaire. Very 
practical man, that Voltaire. He says, “ If as much care were taken to per- 
petuate a race of fine men as is done to prevent the mixture of ignoble blood 
in horses and dogs, the genealogy of everyone would be written on his face 
and displayed in his manners.” “Awkins, judging from your appearance 
heredity has played the very devil with you. You are not a very agreeable 
looking man, and I would contemplate your progeny with horror to think 
they would call me grandfather. You will observe, Awkins, that I am candid. 
I express my convictions as I feel then. I am not permitted to do otherwise 
according to the rules of the * Society for the Suppression of Prevarication,’ 
of which I am an honored member. Perhaps you suffer innocently, Awkins, 
for the faults of your fore-fathers, mind you, I said fore-fathers, I spell the 
word, F-O-R-E. Perhaps they have eaten sour grapes and they have put 
your teeth on edge.” 

“ Permit me, professor,” interrupted Awkins, “ 1 haven’t come here for 
a ‘leckchar’ on heredity.” 

“ I know you haven’t, Awkins, but if you want me to recognize your 
proposal, you will have to conform with certain stipulated regulations. You 
love my daughter. So do I. My love concerns my danghter's future hap- 
piness. Your love concerns your present passion. In the first place Awk- 
ins, 1 know my daughter loves you. She has confided this fact to me many 
times. I will exact from you only that much which you may exact from me. 
You must visit our family physician. He will inquire into your family 
antecedent and personal history. He will submit you to a thorough physical 
examination. Remember, Awkins, I am not asking too much. My daughter 
will be sent to any reputable physician whom you may elect. The safe- 
guard I am taking concerns both of you. Your progeny will receive health 
as a heritage, the most sublime gift which parents can bequeath to their 
children, if the examination is satisfactory, you must submit to a correction 
of your * physical deformity. One of the great laws of heredity is atavism, 
or a reversion to the type of some distant progenitor. You will pardon me, 


32 


THE IMAGERY OF LOVE. 


Awkins, but your type is pronouncedly suggestive ; your type can only be 
found in large cities and menageries. Remember, Awkins, I refrain from 
being harsh. 1 only speak my convictions. If you are willing to submit to 
my proposition, 1 will at once address a note to my family physician.” 

Awkins assenting, Professor Fulter wrote a letter, and handing it to his 
visitor saw him to the door. A few days later, Awkins returned with the 
following note from the physician : 

My dear professor : In conformity with your request, I have carefully 
examined Mr. Clarendon Montague Awkins, and find him from the stand- 
point of physical health eminently fitted to enter into the holy bonds of 
matrimony. 1 ascribe his awkwardness of posture and moral obliquities not 
to any atavistic tendency, but to the vicious habit of acquisition. The pe- 
culiar attitude of his body can only be rectified in one way and that is, by 
placing his body in splints for a period of time varying from one to six 
months. I believe this will straighten him. His moral obliquities can only 
be reached by hypnotism, and to carry out the suggestive effects of the j 
latter, I have recommended him to visit the eminent psychologist, Dr. 
Fauel. I am sir. 

Your obedient servant, 

James W. Bibb, M. D. 

“ You have heard what Dr Bibb has written,” said the professor; “ are 
you prepared to remain in splints for that period of time and to submit to 
the suggestive treatment of Dr. Fauel? ” 

“ l am prepared to do anything,” replied Awkins, “ with one proviso, 
and that is, that the splints will be well padded with cotton, for it would be 
deucedly awkward, don’t you know, hot to say inconvenient, professor, to . 
lie against rough boards for any length of time.” 

The professor complimented Awkins on his voluntary spirit of immola- 
tion, and calling his daughter Urania, bade her take a farewell of Claren- 
don Montague Awkins. 

Dr. Fauel was a bachelor. Love had never entered his organism. The 
study of science is only too often the antidote of love. But Dr. Fauel saw 
Urania Fulter. Instinct is stronger than reason and how could any insignifi- 
cant human being thwart a force which nature in her wondrous achievements 
has elected to be the paragon of all forces ? 

Dr. Fauel recognized professional honor as much as any man could 
possibly do under the circumstances. He was* a physician, but he was 
human. He sought to correct the moral obliquities of Clarendon Awkins by 
suggestion, and he was on the road to success. One day when Urania Fulter 
was visiting Awkins, Dr. Fauel engaged her in conversation. She desired 
to know whether his suggestions would be of permanent benefit in the case 
of Mr. Awkins and whether he had really hypnotized him. 

Dr. Fauel, seizing the opportunity removed from his cabinet a small 
body which looked suspiciously like a dried onion, which in reality it was. 
“ You see Miss Fulter, it was with this body that I succeeded in hypnotizing 
Mr. Awkins. It is a rare talisman which was employed by an extinct race 
in Africa to induce sleep. The legend associated with this body is that any 


THE IMAGERY OF LOVE. 


33 


one who would contemplate it steadfastly for a few minutes would be seized 
with an uncontrollable tendency to go to sleep ; that sleep would ensue, and 
that when the individual awoke, the person whom they had last seen would 
awaken a feeling of inextinguishable love.” 

Dr. Fauel had accomplished his object. No one could impugn his 
professional motives. He had merely improvised a legend for the occasion 
with a dessicated onion, and it was the onion, not he, which had inspired the 
love of Urania Fulter for Dr. Fauel. 

“ Perhaps you would like to examine this rare object more closely,” 
said Dr. Fauel. Miss. Fulter answering in the affirmative, the doctor handed 
the object to her. “ You already have the tendency to go to sleep, Miss 
Fulter. “ Your eyelids are beginning to droop, the object is becoming 
indistinct, you can no longer hear my voice, your eyelids are closed ; you 
cannot open them. You are asleep. Sleep. You do not love Mr. Awkins. 
You love Dr. Fauel, you love him dearly. Your love for him will never 
become extinguished. When I count three you will awake. One-2-3 
counted Dr. Fauel slowly. 

No sooner was the number three uttered when Urania awoke. She 
rubbed her eyes mechanically. She looked around in a bewildered sort of a 
way and then her glance falling on Dr. Fauel, she embraced him with fervor, 
telling him with the ardor of a lover, that she never knew what it was to 
love before. Dr. Fauel was overjoyed with the success of his experiment. 
He accompanied Urania to her home. She wanted to tell her father in his 
presence how much she loved him, and that she would never wed another. 
Professor Fulter listened with imperturbable gravity to her recital of love for 
Dr. Fauel. It was many minutes before the professor essayed a reply. At 
last he said : 

“ Dr. Fauel, like myself, you are a man of science. Perhaps your 
sentiments coincide with mine in relation to that ephemeral attribute denom- 
inated love, viz., that it is a capricious prank of the imagination. Love as 1 
view it is an acquired sentiment which requires cultivation before it can 
attain the dignity of a permanent affection. You are no longer young, Dr. 
Fauel, but your mind is mature. You are acquainted with my views on 
heredity and for the sake of the progeny, who will honor me by calling me 
grandfather, I consent without parley to the union of two souls who will 
yield descendants endowed with mental vigor. By-the-way, Dr. Fauel, how 
about your patient, Mr. Awkins, how will he take the matter ?” 

Before Dr. Fauel could reply, the professor continued. “ Before giving 
you my final blessing let us await the results of Mr. Awkin’s treatment.” 

The time seemed interminable to the lovers before Awkin’s recovery. He 
did recover, however, and soon-after called on the professor. The professor 
received him with unusual cordiality. He was surprised at the marvelous 
change which had been undergone by Awkins. He complimented him pro- 
fusely, and was glad that he had not given his final consent to the marriage 
of his daughter to Dr. Fauel. “ Mr. Awkins,” said the professor finally, “ I 
am now happy to consent to the union of my daughter with so worthy a 
specimen of physical manhood. Mr. Awkins my blessings as a happy 
father.” 


34 


THE IMAGERY OF LOVE. 


“ Professor, ” said Mr. Awkins, '* you will pardon me if I speak my 
convictions, especially so as 1 am now an honored member of ‘ The Society 
for the Suppression of Prevarication,’ but the fact is, I regard love as a 
freak of the imagination. The constant use of cigarettes had so undermined 
my mental and physical health, that I was no longer accountable for my 
acts. Now that I have fully recovered, thanks to your advanced views on 
heredity and the unsurpassed skill of Dr. Fauel, I have decided that love is a 
diseased state of the mind and matrimony its demonstration. I ask no 
release from my promise, for 1 have made none. 1 have merely come to 
thank you for your great kindness, which I shall never forget. Remember 
me kindly to your worthy daughter.” 

Having uttered these words, Mr. Awkins left the astounded professor. 
Attached to one of the handsomest gifts received by Mr. and Mrs. Fauel was 
a card bearing the name ‘'Mr. Algernon Montague Awkins.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Fauel continued to live unhappily for the rest of their 
lives. Dr. Fauel has renounced hypnotism as a dangerous expedient. His 
latest work which has distinguished him in his profession is entitled : “ The 
Mutual Conflict of Science and Love.” 



LEAF VI. 

THE EUTHANASIA CLUB. 


S EATED before me was Ringgold Cooper, a chemist of New York. He 
was thirty-four years of age, and a man of Herculean proportions. 

“ I have come,” said he, “to consult you about a trivial matter. Dur- 
ing the last week I have been suffering from toothache like pains in my 
5 legs, and beyond slight unsteadiness in walking, especially in the dark, I 
have never felt better in my life.” 

After a thorough examination of his case, I pronounced him to be suf- 
fering from LOCOMOTOR ATAXIA. 

“ That is a disease of the spinal cord, is it not, doctor?” said he sto- 
ically. “And the prognosis ?” 

“ Unfavorable,” I replied, hesitatingly. 

“ What vyill be the course of the disease ? I want you to be candid 
with me, doctor, for I have no false conception of human life and its foi- 
bles.” 

“ I will conceal nothing,” said I in reply. “ You will pass through 
three stages. The first stage will be marked by an exaggeration of the 
the pains from which you now suffer. Perhaps in this stage you may lose 
! your eye sight. In the second stage your muscles will no longer obey you, 

\ they will become intractable. You will in this stage require the aid of a 
, cane, perhaps two canes, to aid you in locomotion. In the final stage you 
will loss the power of walking, and become bedridden or paralyzed, and 
j then perhaps beneficent nature will dissipate your misery by afflicting you 
with some fatal disease, like pneumonia or tuberculosis, which will draw 
down the curtain on the tragedy of your life. Mind you, Mr. Cooper, the 
disease may remain in the first stage for an indefinite period of time, or it 
may remain stationary in the second stage for years, or even arrested.” 
“And the treatment ?” interpolated Cooper. 

“Is merely palliative,” I replied. 

“ Which means, doctor, that you can only give me temporary remis- 
sions from pain. I am an optimist,” said Cooper, laughingly. “Nature is 
indeed wise in her dispensations. Our club has delayed its inaugural cere- 
mony, because no volunteer was ready. 

“ You are not a member of the suicide club, Mr. Cooper ?” I ventured 
to ask. 


36 


THE EUTHANASIA CLUB. 


“ You mistake me, doctor, I am no felo de se ; for while suicide is a ! 
criminal act, it is so because it is not sanctioned by the spirit of the times. 

1 am a member of the Euthanasia Club. Not heard of it ? Well, it is pos- 
sible that you have not. You see, doctor, our club is a creation a little 
ahead of the times. We do not openly defy the laws of the State, so that 
at present, there is some secrecy observed in conducting our meetings.” 

“Our estimate of life is computed from the standpoint of health. The 
Euthanasians believe in encompassing death pleasantly and humanely in | 
the case of cripples and all those suffering from incurable diseases. You 
will agree with me,” he proceeded, “ that life in the concrete can be en- 
joyed with difficulty, but if to life is added the burdens of physical and | 
mental ills, human life becomes a veritable farce. Of course your verdict in j 
my case is not final. The lethal committee, composed of three physicians, i 
members of the club, must pass on the merits of my disease. If eligible I ! 
will be allowed to take my final degree. I have sought for great distinct- 
ion in my profession and have not yet attained it. Now,” said he almost : 
gleefully, “ I will in history be distinguished for all time as the first mem- i 
member of the Euthanasia Club, who has taken his third and final degree. I 
You will hear from me again, provided the lethal committee has pronounced 
favorably regarding my case.” 

Having paid me my fee, Mr. Cooper left my office. In one week I re- 
ceived the following communication from the Euthanasia Club : 

“ When time, or soon or late, shall bring 
The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, 

Oblivion ! may thy languid wing 
Wave gently o’er my dying bed !” 

In the name of our beloved confrere, 

RINGGOLD COOPER, 

The Euthanasia Club sends you greeting, and invites your 
presence at the Valhalla of the Euthanasium, on Tuesday, 

January 3, 1898, at 12 M., when the transition of Ringgold 
Cooper to another and purer life will take place. 

The departure of our confrere and friend is worthy of a cordial 
valediction. 

“ Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more.” 

At the appointed time, dressed in sombre black, as if in anticipation of 
the gloom which awaited me, I arrived at the Euthanasium. I was received 
at the door in response to my ring by an attendant dressed in gala attire, 
and ushered into the reception room. 

In the latter room, Ringgold Cooper greeted me. He seemed flushed 
with excitement, such as one witnesses in those on whom honors are about 
to be thrust. Gathered about the room were a number of ladies and gen- 
tlemen of characteristic intellectual bearing. 

There was nothing in their demeanor nor dress which suggested that 
which I had anticipated. On the contrary, all was suggestive of a digni- 
fied festivity. In a few minutes the strains of Mendelssohn’s wedding 
march could be heard, and at a given signal the march to the Valhalla 
began. 


THE EUTHANASIA CLUB. 


37 


When we arrived at the Valhalla, 1 stood spell-bound before the scene 
which greeted my senses. The soft music from some hidden recess con- 
tinued, and the atmosphere was redolent with a perfume which lulled the 
excited mind to repose. The large hall was flanked by a peristyle made of 
alabaster columns, which contrasted pleasingly with the variegated tessel- 
lated flooring ; a soft light modified by colored glass illumined the hall. 
Rare exotic plants were distributed about, and an artistic fountain in opera- 
tion in the centre of the hall added to the architectural beauty of this orien- 
tal splendor. 

Suddenly the music ceased, and for some time we were entertained at 
a banquet. Ringgold Cooper occupied the seat of honor. After refection 
the president arose. In a few choice words uttered in an unmodified con- 
versational voice, he outlined the belief of the Euthanasians. 

It was a belief fully in accord with science, not stationary as was the 
conventional religions, but progressive and capable of modification as sci- 
ence advanced. 

Quoting the Greek philosopher, Aristotle, “that nothing was in the 
mind which was not before in the senses,” he dilated on the quotation in 
its application to the tenets of the Euthanasians. 

*' We do not believe,” he continued, “ that the human mind is capable 
of appreciating more than has been conveyed to it through the senses. In 
this conception of the limitations of the human intellect, we are satisfied. 
My friends,” said he in conclusion, “ I will place on the head of Ringgold 
Cooper a crown of laurel, the symbol of immortality.” 

Again the soft strains of music were heard. Rising from his seat, and 
raising his glass on high stood Ringgold Cooper, noble in his bearing, 
mighty in courage and Herculean in his strength. In a distinct voice he 
spoke as follows : 

“ My worthy confreres and friends : The consummation of my dreams 
has at last assumed reality. As I stand on the threshold between this and 
another life prepared to take the final degree which the Euthanasians in 
their wisdom have seen proper to bestow on me, the rapturous delights of 
my departure appeal to my consideration for you in the act of separation, 
but separation, we have been taught by the tenets of our belief, is only a 
journey to another life, a journey, during which there is no consciousness, 
but a sleep, to quote our illustrious master, Socrates, ‘ Like the sleep of 
him who is undisturbed even by the sight of dreams.’ 

“ May you, my confreres and friends, begin your journey as pleasantly 
as I, and with this decoction do I pledge my faith in what I have uttered.” 

Placing the glass to his lips, he drank the contents and resumed his 

seat. 

Only distant voices were now heard singing in ecstatic delight the 
words of the Thanatopsis. The guests in unison concluded the chorus : 

" Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night, 

Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed, 

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." 

Ringgold Cooper looked like one exalted to eternal happiness, and lest 
we should disturb his sleep, we quietly left the Valhalla. 


LEAF VII. 


A STUDY IN LIGHT AND SHADOW. 


T O HIM who doubts that affection is ofttimes inspired by some physical 
deformity, hearken to the brief narrative that is here recited of Dr. 
Horace Duff. 

The doctor had married. He had no business to marry. A physician 
devoted to his work cannot worship at two shrines. Eros will not be sac- 
rificed for Esculapius. Was it not Michael Angelo who said of art, ‘‘Art is 
a jealous god, it requires the whole and entire man.’' 

Mrs. Duff was Kitty McFarland, one of the belles of society. She was 
beautiful. The society columns of the daily press had so pictured her at a 
dollar a line. 

The fact was, she was not beautiful. Dr. Duff had admired a little 
tumor on the end of her nose, which almost amounted to a deformity. 

Dr. Duff was a tumor specialist. He saw in the little tumor perched 
at the tip of his wife’s nose, something divinely beautiful. The average 
man would not have admired it. It requires an artist to recognize art, and 
tumor specialists are not exempt in esthetic extravagances. Other men 
have developed a fancy for women with deformities. 

Dr. Duff's devotion to his wife was idolatrous. Unfortunately he 
gave her only a very small part of his time, which proved disastrous. Love 
is a mutual, not an individual feeling. 

They were not married many months before rumor connected her 
name with an insignificant fop, Algernon Gray. Algernon Gray did not 
love Mrs. Duff, but the latter loved Algernon. 

Her love for Algernon was inspired by the fact, that she admired 
blondes, and he was a pronounced blonde. Algernon Gray was simply 
making conquests. He was an amative egotist bent on making a numerical 
estimate of his triumphs. 

“ My dear,” said Mrs. Duff one evening, after her husband had re- 
turned from a busy day’s work, “ I want you to remove this unsightly 
tumor from the end of my nose.” 

“ Why, my love,” replied Dr. Duff, “that to me is the most beautiful 
part of you.” 

“ I know you admire it, dearest, but others do not.” She was think- 
ing just then of Algernon Gray and his unkind reference to the tumor that 
very evening. 


A STUDY IN LIGHT AND SHADOW. 


39 


“We will speak no more about the tumor,” said Dr. Duff, “and be- 
sides that, all wives should appear beautiful only in the eyes of their hus- 
bands.” 

Mrs. Duff was a woman of caprices. She enjoyed her liason with 
Algernon At last rumor reached Dr. Duff. He scouted the idea that Mrs. 
Duff should show any admiration for Algernon Gray. He realized only 
too well that with some people, love is not a matter of sentiment, but in- 
voked by some physical condition which appeals only to the eye or some 
other sense. 

Mrs. Duff had frequently confided to him that she loved blondes, al- 
though he himself was a decided brunette. That day Dr. Duff questioned 
his wife about the truth of the rumor, which was in the possession of 
every one. She did not deny her admiration, nay more, her love for Alger- 
non Gray. 

Dr. Duff was in a quandary. He did not rave and storm after the 
conventional manner of romancists, but he deliberated with all the serious- 
ness of a scientist. He at last formulated a resolution, which was to the 
effect that Algernon Gray should become his patient. 

Nothing was easier. A few days later, Dr. Duff met Algernon on the 
street. “Algernon,” said Dr. Duff, “you are not looking well.” 

“ Not looking well,” replied Algernon. “ 1 never felt better in my 
i life,” and he thumped himself significantly in the ribs. 

“ That may all be true,” said Dr. Duff, “ but you know, Algernon, 
that physicians can see more than one feels. I have been observing your 
eye, and I note that there is a slight gerontoxon , which in time will develop 
into a serious complication. By taking this in time, one can prevent com- 
plications, and there is no time like the present.” 

Dr. Duff admired his own diplomacy. He saw with delight that his advice 
was not without effect, and that Algernon Gray had turned a deathly hue, 
and would have fainted were it not for the timely use of a few drops of 
amyl nitrite, which Dr. Duff had judiciously provided for the occasion. 

Algernon Gray submitted. He wanted to be cured. Dr. Duff directed 
Algernon to enter his private hospital. The treatment would not consume 
more than a few weeks’ time 

“ Have you seen Algernon Gray lately,” said Dr. Duff, to his wife 
gleefully, as they were seated before the fireside of their happy home, 
j “ Not lately,” replied Mrs. Duff, with a sigh. 

“ Well, Algernon is sick in the hospital, and will soon be out.” 

Algernon soon left the hospital, thanks to the treatment of Dr. Duff’s 
drugs. But there was a change in Algernon. His beautiful complexion 
had undergone a decided 1 change. A grayish discoloration now appeared. 

Algernon, with alarm, called Dr. Duff’s attention to this change. 

Dr. Duff advised Algernon to take sun baths, which only intensified 
the coloration, until in a little time Algernon Gray was no longer a blonde, 
but a pronounced brunette. 

Dr. Duff had accomplished his revenge. It was evident to every one 
that Mrs. Duff no longer cared for Algernon Gray, in fact she loathed him, 
as she did every brunette. 


40 


A STUDY IN LIGHT AND SHADOW. 


Algernon Gray was no longer seen about town. His suspicions were 
suddenly aroused, and he suspected the malevolent designs of Dr. Duff, but 
was not sure. 

Gossip said that Algernon went abroad to consult Prof. Lemkauf, the 
celebrated Hamburg dermatologist, and such was really the case, as was re- 
vealed in a letter from Algernon to one of his friends. 

The letter said, that the famous skin physician pronounced his case 
one of argyrosis . That it was due to the long continued use of nitrate of 
silver. That the latter became deposited in the skin, and became gray or 
black on exposure to the light. That the solar rays were more powerful in 
effecting this chemical change. Prof. Lemkauf, so the letter went onto 
say, “ was experimenting with a chemical which would enter into combin- 
ation with the silver deposits in the skin, and thus remove the coloration. ” 

The physician was positive that he would restore Algernon’s complex- 
ion. Thus did Algernon learn of Dr. Duff’s perfidy. 

He would storm the citadel of Mrs: Duff’s love, not a difficult task, and 
thus wreak his vengeance on Dr. Duff. 

Dr. Duff hearing of Algernon’s vengeance, and recognizing his own 
frailty, and fearing lest he should lose the object of his devotion, the tumor 
on Mrs. Duff’s nose, and with it Mrs. Duff, if Algernon should ever be 
metamorphosed to his original self, he determined on immediate action. 

He would go to Hamburg himself and consult the eminent dermatolo- 
gist. So he rapturously kissed the tumor which adorned Mrs. Duff’s nose, 
and bade his wife good-bye. He would return in a few months a new man; 
one whom she would love as earnestly as he did her tumor. 

He arrived in Hamburg, and immediately consulted Prof. Lemkauf. 
The latter informed him that the conversion of a brunette into a blonde be- 
longed to the elements of dermatology. Nothing was easier. A dozen 
baths in a solution of peroxide of hydrogen, prepared after the formula of 
the professor, and known only to himself, effected the work so rapidly, that 
in three weeks Dr. Duff was not only a blonde, but out-classed Algernon 
Gray in the intensity of his etiolation. 

He would now return to the object of his adoration, certain that Mrs.] 
Duff would concentrate her affections on him only. 

He had sufficient forethought to take with him on his journey a few 
barrels of the peroxide solution, made after the formula of Prof. Lemkauf. 

During Dr. Duff's absence in Europe, Mrs. Duff was not idle. Another 
blonde had inspired her admiration. 

To please the latter, she had Dr. Maxwell, a prominent surgeon, re- 
move the objectionable tumor from her nose. While she was recovering 
from the effects of the operation, her husband returned unexpectedly. She 
was astounded at his metamorphosis. She embraced him with an affection 
she never felt before. 

“ Why, dearest, you are the most distinguished looking blonde I ever 
saw. Why you seem displeased, and I worship you so fervently ; what is 
the matter ?” 

“ Where is the tumor ?” responded Dr. Duff, petulantly. 

“The tumor/’ replied his wife falteringly, “the tumor, why. Dr. 
Maxwell has it.” 


A STUDY IN LIGHT AND SHADOW. 


41 


“ Where is Dr. Maxwell ?” thundered Dr. Duff, impatiently. 

“ I will call him dearest ; please don't be cross.” 

His wife soon returned with Dr. Maxwell ; the latter bearing the tumor 
in a bottle. 

“ Dr. Maxwell,” said Dr. Duff seriously, addressing his colleague, “ I 
want you to graft that tumor on my wife’s nose, if my wife is willing.” 

“ Willing, I should think I was dearest; you know you once told me,” 
and she embraced her husband affectionately, “ that a wife should only 
appear beautiful in the eyes of her husband.” 

The tumor was restored to its place of dignity and peace, and happi- 
ness reigned in the family of Dr. Duff. But, alas, only for a little time. 

For some time Mrs. Duff noticed with alarm that the doctor was grad- 
ually becoming a brunette again. 

Dr. Duff congratulated himself on his forethought ; he would immerse 
himself in the solution which he had brought from Europe. He had care- 
fully locked the solution in a large safe which he had bought for the occa- 
sion. 


What was his dismay, on opening the safe, to find that the solutions 
were no longer there. Surely the solution could not have evaporated. 

He called his wife hurriedly to his side, and complained bitterly of his 
great misfortune 

“ Why, my dear, you can write to Prof. Lemkauf, and have him send 
you some more of the solution.” 

“Unfortunate me,” cried Dr. Duff in despair. “ Prof. Lemkauf is 
dead, and his formula has perished with him. Who has opened this safe, 
wife ?” said Dr. Duff desperately.” 

Mrs. Duff confessed that a month after Dr. Duff’s return from Europe, 
Algernon Gray encountered Mrs. Duff on the street. He had entreated her 
to elope with him. He loved her fondly, but she was obdurate to his pro- 
testations of love. She remembered that a few weeks later, a man came 
to the house, and said that he had been sent by Dr. Duff to repair the safe; 
she believed him, and while occupied in the prosecution of the work, she 
had left the house. 

“ I sent no one to repair the safe,” said Dr. Duff, whose suspicions 
were now thoroughly aroused. “ 1 know who the miscreant was— it was 
Algernon Gray. 

Algernon Gray was really the cause of Dr. Duff’s lamentations, for 
there on the inner door of the safe, were the words written with a stick of 


\ nitrate of silver. 

“ ^Revenge is saccharine. 

Algernon Gray.” 

Peace no longer reigned in the house of Dr. Duff. The latter had bs- 
| come himself again. Mrs. Duff eloped with a blonde .youth of nineteen 
| summers, and Dr. Duff married an old woman who had come to him for 
the treatment of an enchondroma growing from the upper jaw. 

Dr. Duff treated the tumor successfully by leaving it alone. He mar- 
ried his patient and gives ecstatic admiration to the tumor which adorns his 
wife’s jaw, and interferes with its motion. 


LEAF VIII. 


A MARTYR TO HIS PROFESSION. 


A T MIDNIGHT, a messenger from my greatly beloved colleague, Dr. 
Wilton, informed me that he was dying, and desired to see me at once. 

I lost no time in arriving at his bedside. Grim Death, accompanied 
by the Angel of Mercy, had preceded me in my visit, for the face of my 
dear friend already bore the physiognomy of impending dissolution, which 
benign Mercy had mollified by the tenderness of her presence. 

Mercy could afford to pay this modest tribute to one so good and pure 
as Dr. Wilton. No man more than I was better fitted to estimate his real 
services to the poor, for not only was he their physician, but he was also 
their friend ; he made merry with them in their pleasures, and grieved 
with them in their sorrows. 

Whatever he acquired in his profession was distributed among the 
poor, for he reserved nothing for himself. The arena of his good deeds 
was a mere hovel, and his only audience were the poor unfortunates of the 
lowly homes. 

He possessed that which even kings might envy if they could only 
realize the value of its possession ; it was a noble gift— the most sublime 
which God could confer on mortal man. It was conscience. 

Upon Dr. Wilton, God had bestowed the divine benison, and he was 
most worthy of its possession ; he was the real prophet among the people. 
If kindness of action need nominal recognition, Dr. Wilton was a practical 
Christian. 

No biographer could more fitly give expression to the occurrences of 
the history of his life than in using the humble, though sublime word, sac- 
rifice. 

Sacrifice conveys little meaning to those who have not needed its ser- 
vice, but to those who have enjoyed its beneficence, no word is more co- 
gent in its import. 

The picture of Dr. Wilton can be multiplied a hundred fold; its replica 
can be found in any city if one will only seek for the hard working, con- 
scientious physician, whose field of labor is among the poor. 

“ I am dying,” began Dr. Wilton, as he extended his hand in recogni- 
tion of my arrival. His voice was husky, but unfaltering. “ I do not fear 
death,” he said, “ I greet it as a happy release from life. To no religion do I 
owe allegiance, therefore the torments of the hereafter for the unbeliever, 
as expounded by certain theologians do not exist for me. I have sent 


A MARTYR TO HIS PROFESSION. 


43 


for you, my trusted friend, because I must account to my conscience before 
I pass over to the silent majority. I must be brief in my narrative," 

“ One week ago, the widow McCabe's son Johnny contracted diph- 
theria ; for two days and nights I never quit his bedside. The deposits in 
his throat were extending to his larynx. Suffocation seemed imminent un- 
less tracheotomy was performed. 

“ The operation was successful, and my patient could breathe freely 
through the tube, which was inserted in his wind-pipe. Knowing that his 
breathing was unobstructed, I was constrained to visit a poor patient who 
had already sent for me on the previous day ; I was gone longer than I ex- 
pected, and when I returned to the McCabe hovel I found my patient, to 
my utter dismay, in the throes of suffocation. The tube in his wind-pipe 
had become obstructed by the false membrane, and every effort to clear the 
tube proved futile. 

“ Johnny McCabe has passed away, and his mother is deprived of her 
only support/' Here Dr. Wilton's voice faltered, and I detected a tear 
coursing down his withered cheek, but he recovered himself in an instant, 
and resumed, “ I feel that I should not have left the bedside of Johnny. 
Perhaps, if I had remained with him, I might have averted the unfortunate 
ending. I have not demanded your presence to recite my misdoing. Mrs. 
McCabe is without money. When 1 am dead 1 want you to sell all my per- 
sonal property ; it is all I possess ; it may bring fifty dollars ; give the 
proceeds, whatever they may be, to. Mrs. McCabe — it is very little. I want 
you to do me another favor, and I know 1 can trust you to respect my 
wishes. The Galen Medical College is in dire want of dissecting material ; 
they are offering one hundred dollars for bodies. Dispose of my body to 
the college, and turn over the amount to Mrs. McCabe. 

1 am an austere man, and little given to the frivolity of emotion, but 
who could restrain the feeling which dominated me ? I confess it was a 
puerile act, but I did embrace Dr. Wilton— no, not Dr. Wilton, but his 
remains. 

On the following day Mrs. McCabe told me how Dr. Wilton had con- 
tracted the disease, which cost him his life. The tube in Johnny McCabe's 
throat was obstructed, no instrument was at hand to remove the obstruc- 
tion ; action to be of service must be immediate. Heroes never hesitate, 
nor do they consider consequences. 

Dr. Wilton knew that it was suicidal to aspirate the tube with his mouth, 
but the life of a physician in the path of duty was only an abstract factor. 
This was how he contracted the disease. 

I am a mere chronicler, and as a physician, it ill becomes me to com- 
ment on the sublimity of an act worthy of apotheosis. Such triumphs of 
sublime heroism are many in my profession, and yet the hero returns “ to 
the vile dust, from whence he sprung, unwept, unhonored and unsung." 


LEAF IX. 


A PATENT MEDICINE. 


M R. STEPHEN DROSS, senior member of the drug firm of Dross, 
Stanton & Co., was busily engaged in looking over his balance sheet. 
Suddenly he tapped his forehead significantly, and looking up ad- 
dressed the manager of his extensive business, 

“ Williams ?” said he, “ trade is dull. We must do something to 
scare up things a bit. It was Talleyrand, wasn’t it, who said, ‘ Society 
is divided into two classes— the fleecer and the fleeced ?’ Let me see,” 
and again he thumped his cranium, “ What is the prevailing disease, Will- 
iams ?” 

“Well, sir,” responded Williams deferentially, “dyspepia, and per- 
haps nervous prostration seem to have been taken pretty much into the 
confidence of the people lately,” 

“ Let’s say nervous prostration, Williams. Nervous prostration. Doc- 
tors don’t seem to get to the bottom of nervous prostration, Williams.” 

“ How can they,” replied Williams, “nervous prostration is a pretty 
severe disease, and how can doctors cure a severe disease, when they 
haven’t even gained mastery over the trifling ailments. Now for instance,” 
continued Williams, “ I have had a corn, mind you, Mr. Dross, a simple 
corn on this little toe of mine for well nigh on to five years, and it’s still 
there, notwithstanding it’s been under treatment for all this time.” 

“ Yes, that’s true,” said the senior member. “ I’ve been discharging 
bile into my intestine for the last twenty years, and I have taken every 
conceivable remedy, but the bile continues to flow. Suppose, Williams, we 
invent a patent medicine for nervous prostration.” 

“ That seems to be a pretty good idea,” answered the manager. 1 
will look up the chief symptoms of nervous prostration, and then I will go 
to Prof. Cerbrospinalis, the great nerve specialist, and get him to give me 
a prescription, and then we can patent the prescription.” 

“Let me see,” said the practical senior member; “the cost of ob- 
taining that prescription would be as follows : 


Car fare 

Time consumed in seeing the specialist. . 
Cost of Consultation ; 


$0.10 


3.00 

5.00 


A PATENT MEDICINE. 


45 


No, Williams, that will never do. Pay eight dollars and ten cents for a 
prescription to cure nervous prostration. No, sir. Decidedly, no, sir. 
It's not the medicine which is going to effect the cure ; its the testimonials 
which accompany the medicine. Haven’t you ever noticed,'’ proceeded 
Mr. Dross, “that the directions which accompany a patent medicine are 
i extensive, and if the patients follow those directions, they will be on the 
right road to recovery. You remember, Williams, that anti-fat remedy we 
got up to sell,’' and here the manager chuckled gleefully. “ Well, the 
remedy was water, colored with raspberry syrup and flavored with pepper- 
: mint. The directions on the bottle were to take a teaspoonful three times 
a day after meals, and the meals — . Well, you know, every^article of food 
! was allowed the patient, excepting articles which would produce fat. Now 
; its the same with our — well, let’s call it CHEWINE, for almost every one 
will bite. We will get young Dr. Trosse to write a list of ipeasures for cur- 
ing nervous prostration, and instruct our patrons that unless they carefully 
follow the instructions our peerless catholicon will have no opportunity to 
do good. Of course our bottles and labels must be gotten up regardless of 
expense, and as for the medicine — well that is only to sell any way — that 
must be made pleasant. And let me say right here, Williams, that this is 
where we get in on the doctor. What does he know about elegant phar- 
macy ? He prescribes his nauseous medicines with the abandonment of a 
boarding-house proprietress, who mixes her hash. If the physician knew 
anything about pharmacy, we would, to employ a vulgarism, be in the 
bouillon.” 

“ Suppose we put new labels on our anti-fat medicine ; we have a 
large lot of unused bottles on our hands, for the bicycle fad has played the 
very devil with the sale of the remedy.'’ 

“ I think that would be a most excellent idea, Mr. Dross,” replied the 
manager. 

“ There is another thing I forget to add, Williams, and that was the 
question of testimonials. We must have an accomplished liar to give us a 
! testimonial. You know, Williams, there are three grades of a liar : posi- 
tive, prevaricator; comparative, liar; and superlative, writer of medical testi- 
monials. If I were to comment further on this comparison, I would say, 
that the testimonial is even more potent than the label, let* alone the medi- 
cine, for that is entirely out of the question.” 

“ Do you know a worthy liar, Williams. One who is past-master’ in 
his art, and who enjoys some distinction as a physician ?” 

“ Why, 1 know the very man for you,” responded Williams with alac- 
rity. “ It is Dr. Wike ; he is the very man.” 

“ Why, the very man, Williams ?” 

“This Dr. Wike is unprincipled. He will subscribe to anything, pro- 
1 vided there is--” 

“Yes, I know, interrupted the senior member, “ If there is enough 

I money in it.” _ ,, 

“ He would do anything for money, Mr. Dross. 


46 


A PATENT MEDICINE. 


“ Perhaps, Williams, he has found money will do anything for him. 
You go tomorrow and see Dr. Wike. We will get his testimonial, and then 
get the indorsement of the medical profession.” 

“ 1 don’t think Dr. Wike is regarded with favor by the profession. He 
is an ignoramus, but for some unaccountable reason has enjoyed a large prac- 
tice ; however, I hear his practice is fast ebbing away, and dollars will 
prove seductive to him.” 

This was the conversation which led to the introduction of one of the 
most successful proprietary medicines of the times. 

The next day Mr. Williams, the manager, was ushered into the pres- 
ence of Dr. Wike. Mr. Williams briefly related the object of his visit. 
Dr. Wike was one of those slow, deliberating individuals, who from force 
of habit, was constantly rubbing his hands. He coughed a few times, and 
then the supreme hypocrite bowed patronizingly, pulled down his vest and 
said nothing. At last he broke the monotony. 

“ My dear Mr. Williams, I could not think of traducing my noble pro- 
fession for a sum less than two hundred dollars ; of course you under- 
stand,” and then he coughed slightly, continuing to rub his hands, “ that 
this amount would be for a mere testimonial only. Perhaps something like 
this : 

“To The Chewine Chemical Company, 

Gentlemen : — 

I have analyzed your peerless remedy, ‘Chewine,’ and find it to 
be composed of chemically pure ingredients so nicely blended, that it 
conciliates the taste, improves the appetite, regulates the bowels, facili- 
tates digestion, and conducts the sufferer by an easy route to absolute 
health.” 

“ That is an excellent testimonial, Dr. Wike, but you have not yet 
seen our preparation, ‘chewine.’ ” 

“That is entirely unnecessary,” said Dr. Wike, “it is better that I 
should not see it, otherwise 1 might be prejudiced in writing the testimonial.” 

“You understand, doctor, our object is to introduce the remedy to the 
medical profession only. We want the endorsement of physicians.” 

“Ah, yes,” and Dr. Wike coughed again and rubbed his hands. “ In 
that case I can publish in some medical journal a list of cases in which the 
remedy has been tried and found useful. Such a contribution will cost you 
five hundred dollars.” 

“ Well, doctor, if you will have ready such an article, say in two 
months, we will accede to your terms, and in the meanwhile, 1 will send 
you a case of the medicine for trial.” 

“ I hardly think that will be necessary, Mr. Williams. If you can fill 
this blank check for the amount, I can give you the contribution at once, 
which you can send to the medical journal.” 

Mr. Williams assenting to this proposition, Dr. Wike called his amanu- 
ensis and dictated his contribution, a synopsis of which is here appended : 


A PATENT MEDICINE. 
i 


47 


“ CHEWINE,” A SOVEREIGN REMEDY FOR NERVOUS PROSTRATION 
—CLINICAL RECORD OF CASES TREATED. 

By Phineas Wike, M.D., T.Y. 3, X.C.L.N.T , I.X.L., R.A.T.S., etc., etc. 

Professor of Diseases of the Big Toe in “ The Way Up Medical College.” 

I have used this excellent remedy in six hundred cases of nervous 
prostration with invariable success. The cases were all of a pronounced 
form, and had resisted all ordinary remedies. Constant use of Chewine 
for over two years convinces me of its specific nature, which warrants me in 
formulating the following conclusions : 

1. Chewine is a specific in all cases of nervous prostration. 

2. It is easily assimilated and pleasant to look at and to take. 

3. Its cost is moderate. 

4. The ingredients have been carefully selected from foreign and ex- 
pensive drugs. 

5. It is composed by skilled chemists after years of patient and labor- 
ious research. 

6. The manufacturers have refrained from publishing the formula, 
fearing lest the members of our noble profession would be imposed on by 
unscrupulous pretenders.” 

After Mr. Williams had carefully read the contribution and expressed 
his approval, he enquired of Dr. Wike, how he thought the medical pro- 
| fession would receive the new remedy. 

The physician answered, that the members of the profession were 
I mostly susceptibly credulous, and that they never suffered from dysphagia 
| or difficult swallowing when it came to the acceptance of a new remedy, 
j “Thefactis,” contended the physician, ‘"the members of my profession are not 
desirous of burdening their minds with the remedies of the materia medica, 
and they delight in learning of something that will render their work easy. 
If a patient comes to them suffering from nervous prostration, they never 
j think of prescribing for the patient, but for the disease. And if this were 
all, it would be well, but they rarely even go to the trouble of examining 
the patient, but construct the diagnosis from what the patient tells them.” 

“ There is one feature which I would suggest in getting up your labels. 
Have a lithograph made of one of the old masters in medicine, say Hippo- 
crates, for instance ; that will help matters along wonderfully, but see that 
the artist idealizes the face. Give him carte blanche as long as he prints 
under the face the name Hippocrates. Use the Greek letters — they look 
better. If you attempt to resuscitate Hippocrates for label purposes, make 
him at least modern.” 

After thus delivering himself and pocketing the proffered check, Dr. 
Wike, still rubbing his hands, bowed his visitor out and rang the bell for 
the next patient. 

One year elapsed since the visit of Williams to Dr. Wike. The sale 
of chewine was enormous. Contributions from the medical profession all 
over the country, confirmed its wonderful properties. 

“ Williams,” said Mr. Dross, one day in the private office of the 
former, ‘‘the sale of chewine is prodigious, and now that we have obtained 


48 


A PATENT MEDICINE. 


the unqualified endorsement of the medical profession, we are justified in 
advertising it to the public at large. This will increase our sales* ten fold. j 
The medical profession may take offense at this stroke of business policy, / 
but they cannot retract their endorsement, for their recommendation of 
chewine to their patients has been well nigh universal. ” 

“ Chewine’’ was rapidly hoisted into fame, and it became a household 
word in every family. Children recited poetry to the refrain of chewine. a 
Valuable souvenirs were soon distributed to the greatest consumers of the j ( 
remedy, and their photographs were published in the daily press. 

The firm of Dross, Stanton & Co. became fabulously wealthy, but alas 
for success, the senior member after chasing wealth lost health, and now 
he was compelled to chase health and neglect wealth. His ailment was " 
nervous prostration. He had employed all tfie local physicians with no f , 
result. His vitality was becoming rapidly exhausted. In despair he vis- ! 
ited New York to consult the eminent nerve specialist, Dr. Cerebrum. 

Dr. Cerebrum was an expert on nervous prostration. He was himself . 
a sufferer from the disease, brought about by too close attention to the duties 
of his profession. Dr. Cerebrum directed Mr. Dross to detail his symp- : 
toms, enjoining him at the same time to be brief. Mr. Dross, like all suf- 
ferers from nervous prostration, was obnoxiously discursive, and before he ! 
had gotten further than the depressed feeling, numbness, pressure in the 
head, weariness, loss of appetite, palpitation, etc., he was interrupted by 
Dr. Cerebrum, who referred him to his amputation clerk in the neighbor- 
ing room. j 

“ The amputation clerk/’ replied Dr. Cerebrum in reply to Mr. Dross’ ; 
interrogation, “is an assistant who cuts it short. You are suffering from I 
nervous prostration, and you people are so painfully exact that I am forced 
to take morphine every time 1 listen to your narrative. For instance, you 
will tell me that you have fullness after eating, belching of wind, sourness in 
your throat, nausea, a feeling as if you wanted to vomit, no appetite, uneasy 
sensation in the region of your stomach, etc., etc., etc. My clerk hears 
your story and writes down, dyspeptic symptoms. Thus he abbreviates 
all your symptoms, and the perusal of your ailments is rendered easy for 
me.” 

After a lapse of two hours, Mr. Dross was again brought into the con- 
sultation-room of Dr. Cerebrum. 

“From your symptoms,” said the latter, “you are a sufferer from 
nervous prostration, and, by the way, I note you are from the West, and I 
from a city where they manufacture the sovereign and infallible remedy, 

‘ Chewine.’ Have you ever tried the remedy ?” 

Mr. Dross replied in the negative, assuring the eminent specialist that j 
he was the manufacturer of the medicine. This admission seemed to please 
Dr. Cerebrum immensely, and he laughed heartily. “ Why don’t you try ! 
the remedy ?” suggested the celebrated specialist. 

“lama sufferer from nervous prostration myself, and I anr anxious to 
try something which will do sufferers from this complaint some good.” 

Mr. Dross replied that he manufactured his remedy to sell only. Again 
Dr. Cerebrum gave vent to laughter ; he thought earnestly for some time. 




A PATENT MEDICINE. 


49 


At last seizing his pen, he rapidly wrote a few lines which he sealed in an 
envelope, requesting Mr. Dross to present it at a neighboring drug store. 

“ If you will take six bottles of that medicine which 1 have prescribed 
for you,” said Dr. Cerebrum, as Mr. Dross was leaving, “ it will restore 
you to perfect health.” 

One month later Mr. Dross called on Dr. Cerebrum. The latter was 
astounded at the marvelous change in his patient. Mr. Dross had increased 
at least twenty-five pounds in weight, and was a typical specimen of per- 
fect physical manhood. . 

“Dr. Cerebrum, you have saved my life, and I tender you in pay- 
ment for your services this signed check which you can fill for any amount 
which your noble nature and common sense may dictate.” 

Dr. Cerebrum allowed the latter impulse to predominate, and filled in 
the check for $5,000. “At the same time, doctor, I wish to present you 
with a dozen bottles of my specific for nervous prostration.” 

After the usual exchange of courtesies, Mr. Dross and Dr. Cerebrum 
took an ardent farewell from one another, Mr. Dross returning to his home 
to superintend the sale of chewine. Not long after the departure of Mr. 
Dross, The Weekly Cholagogut contained an extended contribution from the 
eminent specialist, Dr. Cerebrum, entitled “Autobiography of Nervous 
Prostration.” 

The medical profession was dumbfounded to learn that such a conserva- 
tive physician should advocate the use of a proprietary remedy. The article 
in question related in detail how Dr. Cerebrum, a sufferer from nervous pros- 
tration, was restored to health after taking only six bottles of chewine. 

To his colleague, Prof. Neuron, Dr. Cerebrum confided the fact, that 
it was “chewine” which he had administered to Mr. Dross, and it was to 
[this remedy that the latter, as well as himself, was restored to perfect 
I health . 

“ There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 

Than are dreamt of in our philosophy.” 


LEAF X. 


TWO DAYS IN SPAIN. 


T RAVEL is, in the abstract, a pleasurable pastime. A tedious ride in an 
uncomfortable railway carriage along the beautiful Riviera, makes the 
Jatter supremely unbeautiful. The uneven road-bed of the railroad 
ridicules digestion, which even pepsin will not subdue. I arrived at Mar- 
seilles at ii P. M. The train for Barcelona leaves one hour later. 

The French officials talk boisterously with their arms and shoulders. 
The locomotive whistles and shrieks spasmodically. People rush wildly 
hither and thither. All is confusion. 1 deposit the major part of my lug- 
gage with the baggage master, receiving in return a diminutive piece of 
paper about the size of a postage stamp. It is my receipt. I am in dread 
lest it should evaporate. 

The French are evidently economical in employing words, even though 
written. pourboire to the railway official, after which act, I am ushered 
into a compartment of the railway carriage, which seems admirably adapted 
for the comfort of an asthmatic who enjoys a constrained sitting posture. 

Opposite me is a Spanish beauty. My heart throbs convulsively. 
Your Spanish poet is right. Cristoval de Castillejo, you have struck a re- 
sponsive chord in my thorax. 

“ How dreary and lone 
The world would appear, 

If women were none ! 

’Twould be like a fair, 

With neither fun nor business there.” 

The train moves and 1 am directed toward sunny Spain. The train 
stops. The train stops again. It stops several times. Nothing to relieve 
the monotony but stops and the vacillating eyes of my Spanish beauty. 
She breathes. I scent it from afar. Garlic. As the odor from the bulb- 
ous perennial taints the atmosphere, my beauty becomes correspondingly 
less beautiful. She is loathsome. Cristoval de Castillejo, your mendacity 
is appalling. Poetry, bah ! It’s a disorder of the imagination. It is as 
ephemeral and fictitious as marital bliss (I am not married, but some of my 
intimate friends are). 

Travelling is delightful. My quondam Spanish beauty sleeps. She 
involuntarily raises her tiny right foot and plants it in the region of my 
stomach. Ye Gods ! have I not enough to endure with my stomach with- 
out her putting her foot into it. 


TWO DAYS IN SPAIN. 


51 


She awakes. My relief is only momentary ; she removes her foot, but 
| only for a second. She falls asleep again. Once morel feel the imprint of 
that toot. It has grown to fully ten times its original size. Ten minutes 
more of agony. The train stops. That accursed train is forever stopping. 
The next time I travel toward Spain and I am in a hurry, I’ll walk. She 
awakes. The foot this time has not cast its moorings. I will address her 
and politely request her to cast my stomach adrift. I will try her in several 
languages. 

“ Do you speak French ?” I said, in the purest English. A negative 
shake of the head. “ Do you speak English ?” I resumed. Another shake 
i; of the head. “ Perhaps you speak German ?” 1 cried in despair, and then 
the monotous negative head shake. “ Confound you,” I said, “ here I 
| have addressed you in three different languages and you can’t speak any 
1 one of them. I'll try her in Spanish.” 

I had studied Spanish after the easy conversational method in anticipa- 
tion of my visit to Spain. So here goes ; and I hurled in perfect abandon- 
ment a medley of sonorous Spanish, suggestive of the removal of her foot. 

I paused for a reply. It came. 

“ Eggskuse me, sair,” she said, ** I can no speak ze Anglish.” I felt 
flattered. The easy conversational method was bearing fruit. The train 
gave a sudden lurch, and then as if in agony it stopped. The Spanish fron- 
tier is reached. A Spanish official is uttering a command in a boisterous 
voice. I regard his Spanish as simply execrable. I can’t understand a 
| word he says. My companion has left the compartment ; I follow and am 
i ushered before a Spanish officer, who directs me to the disinfecting room. 

| “ Cholera in Marseilles," he says laconically. 

I * It is 2 A. M. and cold. There is a wealth of rain. What can one ex- 
1 pect in monarchies but reigning sovereigns. Travel is a delightful pastime, 

I but in the abstract. Ten minutes for disinfection. It must have been ten 
I hours, if my feelings, and not the clock, had measured the time. I have 
I crossed the Atlantic several times, sleeping at night in one of the so-called 
\ rooms on board of the steamer and imagined in consequence, that I was 
immune to asphyxia. I am sure that the disinfection received at the Span- 
1 ish frontier discounts asphyxia several times with plenty to spare. 

The disinfection is over ; that is the process. The effects cling closer 
than a postage stamp to an envelope. Three minutes for refreshments, so 
I inhale a few whiffs of Spanish climate, O ! I wish I were home. 

This thought recurs numerous times, but perish the idea, for travelling 
in the abstract is a delightful pastime, even in Spain. 

I am in the compartment of the railroad train again. My companion 
this time is a gentleman. He snores artistically. He gives vent to sounds 
clearly limited to the diatonic scale. 

He wears spectacles. He wears them in his sleep. He must like to 
see his dreams. My stomach is playing the devil with me. It has asserted 
its dignity already three times and seems bound to throw off the indignity 
heaped upon it— three sausages and a glass of French wine— I can hardly 
blame the stomach, so I don’t. The train moves. 1 am surprised. It has 
only stopped five times since leaving the station fifteen minutes ago. I 


52 


TWO DAYS IN SPAIN. 


have fully made up my mind that there is no place like home. I restrain j 
the thought. Am I not consummating the anticipated dream of years ? If 
I can only consume this tedium by reading, but the snoring of my vis a vis 
has already reached the pentatonic scale, and I cannot even see to read. *1 1 1 
wish he would wake up and speak to me. That fellow is beginning to 
snore louder than ever. It becomes positively insufferable. Decency for- 
bids recording my thoughts at this moment. He is now awake. I am sure , 
he is an Englishman, for he hasn't said a word, and besides he incommodes , 
me by trying to occupy the entire compartment. I venture to ask him if ! 
he is rich. He replies in the affirmative. I question him regarding his an- , 
nual income. He answers, “ about ten thousand pounds annually.” “ But 
pray, why do you ask ?” he questioned in a rising inflection. 

“ Because,” I replied, "if I had your income and snored as badly as ! 
you, I would have an entire train/’ Silence is resumed. The train to | 1 
keep itself in condition stops several times. I learn that it is the lightning 
express. What queer names they have for such trains in Spain ? 

Daylight is appearing. The train approaches Barcelona. The Cata- 
Ionian peasants in holiday attire are in evidence. The lightning express 
must be an accommodation train, for it stops long enough to allow passen- 
gers to exchange greetings with their friends at the numerous stations. 
Barcelona is reached at last. 1 am transported to the hotel in a vehicle 
which looks like an inverted tomato. The vehicle plays dice with the pas- 
sengers. It has thrown six. I am directed to a cheerful room on the top 
floor, which is very small. By walking I will be compelled to lose weight, 
for it is only an attenuated body that can occupy the room. While engaged 
in my ablutions, the sound of trumpets is heard. I rush out into the street 
and learn that there is going to be a bull-fight. I want to see a bull fight. 
The only kind I ever saw in America were fought according to the Marquis i 1 
of Queensbury rules. When you are in doubt follow the crowd. I wish 1 i 
had done so. I see the building, "A Los Toros,” in the distance. I leave - 
the crowd and make a detour, hoping to reach the amphitheatre by a | 
shorter route. I sink into a morass up to my knees. The day is beginning i 
ominously. I am thinking hard in this soft ground. I am extricated with a i 
sort of improvised derrick. I repair to a neighboring clothier and purchase 1 
a pair of epileptic trousers. I call them epileptic because they have a horri- i 
ble fit. 1 am now quite content to take the beaten track. 

I purchase a ticket and seat myself in the lower gallery in a front seat 
I am seated among the rank and fashion of Spain. Rank, becase their i 
cigars are vile ; fashion, because the customary garlic is in evidence every- I 
where. A band discourses music, but the musicians are courteous enough 
to atone for their presence by cutting it short. h 

The bull-fight has now commenced. The odor of garlic is less mani- I 
fest. The excitement is so intense that the people hold their breath My i 
neighbor on my right faints from exhaustion. 1 presume he got tired from ! 
over-exertion in holding his breath. One would at least think so judging 
from the muscularity of his breath. The gladiator, the matador’ and the 
pugilist are mere examples of evolution adapted to their environment but 
the dominating incentive, cruelty, is always the same. 


TWO DAYS IN SPAIN. 


53 


The spectators have cancelled for the time being their relation to mercy. 
They are not present to witness a mere scientific contest. In a word, they 
want to see blood. No doubt there were hundreds in the audience at the 
amphitheatre who were disappointed because the bull had not gored the 
picador to death. 

I was sorry for the bull ; he was having a hard time of it. The ban- 
derillero tries to affix the banderillas into the neck of the now infuriated ani- 
mal, and he succeeds. The fight is getting interesting, but it is soon over. 
The bull is now mortally wounded. The puntillero now strikes the animal 
with a triangular dagger in the spinal cord to produce instant death. 

Having killed the bull according to the rules of the game, the public 
now reward the matador by applause and by throwing their hats and cigars 
| into the ring. 

I admire the Spanish method of disposing of bad cigars. In our coun- 
. try, we adopt a more barbarous method, by giving them to our friends. 
While the various articles are being thrown into the arena, I thrust my 
head forward, when suddenly I feel a sensation of blood trickling down my 
face. 

There is a big gash in my scalp. I must have been struck by a cigar. 
They smoke very heavy cigars in Spain. A policeman attempts to arrest 
the hemorrhage, but in vain, the blood spurts from an artery. I proceed to 
1 leave the amphitheatre to obtain the services of a surgeon. He stops the 
hemorrhage and bandages the wound. The bandage is very large, and I 
have a great load on my mind. I leave the amphitheatre ; a mendicant 
approaches and I give him a peseta. 

Inspired by my extravagance, at least a dozen beggars solicit alms. 
One more importunate than the others thrusts his maimed and dirty hand 
in my face. 1 push him away and he falls. This is the signal for attack. 
About one hundred mendicants (at the time of the occurrence there were 
probably three, but distance lends exaggeration to the fact) surround me 
and attempt to do me personal injury. The fortunate presence of a gend- 
arme protects me from their violence. The day is getting very portentous. 

! I must escape from this chapter of accidents. I hail a passing vehicle and 
| direct to be driven to my hotel at once. The conveyance lasts about one 
block and then a wheel comes off and the vehicle is overturned. I am com- 
pelled to crawl through the window. It was a very narrow escape in a 

double sense. , . , . . 

I am bursting with indignation, so have my epileptic trousers. The 
driver arbitrarily assesses the damage at one hundred pesetas. We com- 
promise the matter and he accepts one peseta. I will trust the Spanish 
conveyance no longer. I will walk back to the hotel, notwithstanding my 
trousers to the contrary. 

At last I reached my hotel. I send for the clerk. “Are you sure/ 
said I to the latter, “that the ceiling is secured, and will you please put a 
bulkhead along side the chandelier, send up five fire escapes, turn off the 
gas and, above all things, anchor the hotel/’ “The fact is,” said I con- 
tinuing “that I am desperate and won’t take any more chances.” 


54 


TWO DAYS IN SPAIN. 


Then I related to the dumbfounded clerk my mishaps of the, day. I 
would like to leave Spain at once, but the clerk tells me, that the lightning 
express will not leave until the following night. I am in a position to know 
something about their lightning express trains. So I enquire when the 
freight goes out, as I am in a hurry to get away. He replies that the 
freight train will also leave on the following night attached to the lightning 
express. 

Before leaving Spain I want to indulge myself in a Spanish dinner. The 
meal is superb. It is the best German cooking I ever tasted. When I want 
a Spanish dinner again, I will go to Berlin, where, in a little restaurant off 
the Linden, I can get an excellent meal. The next day is beautiful. 

I walk along the Rambla. 1 need a pair of shoes. The saleslady is the 
wife of the proprietor. She is beautiful. I haven’t as yet detected the 
odor of garlic. I don’t want to be disillusioned. I spend three hours in 
agreeable conversation. She spoke Spanish, of which 1 understood noth- 
ing, and I French, of which she comprehended quite as much, yet 1 under- 
stood her and she me. I purchased a pair of shoes, “ at a reduction,” she 
said. 1 didn’t observe where the reduction came in, but it came in all 
right. As soon as I left the shop with my feet incased in the new shoes, j 
the reduction became manifest, and it was rapid. I couldn't walk. I tried 
to remove the shoes in the usual way, but failed. I had to cut them off my 
feet. My feet were so badly swollen, that J swathed them the remainder : 
of the day in a solution of lead water. 

I am glad to be on the train again. The incidents attending my depar- 
ture from Spain are not worthy of record. 

1 got into an altercation with the conductor about the genuineness of my 
ticket ; I was mistaken for a spy ; a couple of my fellow-passengers en- 
gaged in a rough and tumble fight ; an indulgent mother used me as a mat- 
tress for her darling son, who talked in his sleep ; an hysterical woman 
insisted on fainting when she found that I had a flask of whiskey. The 
attacks ceased as soon as the succulency of the flask was no more. 

Aside from these minor incidents, the return journey was enjoyable 
which warrants my exordium, that travel is, in the abstract, a pleasurable 
pastime. 








LEAF XI. 


THE PROFESSOR OF BACTERIOLOGY. 


T HE Professor of Bacteriology or Science of Germs in “ The Never- 
Refuse-Any-One Medical College,” was Dr. Horatius Big I. 

He was so distinguished that he suffered the dignity of getting writers' 
cramp every time he wrote his name and suffixed his many degrees ; in 
fact this chirographal feat necessitated the employment of every letter of 
the alphabet. In consequence, one could say of him, that he was not only 
a man of letters, but a man of the alphabet. 

Oftentimes he would say to me, that he was very proud of being able 
to add so many letters to his name, but his greatest lament was, that there 
were not more letters in the English alphabet. 

He was a man of such vast erudition, that unlike his successful com- 
petitor, Dr. Laparot, who carried his head in a sling, he had to give vent 
to his excessive brain matter by the operation of trepanation. This is, 
however, mere rumor, but judging by Dr. Big Ps great business sagacity, 
it is not unlikely that it is true. 

His clientele was the largest in the metropolis. His multicolored carri- 
age and richly caparisoned horses were the envy of the medical profession. 

Dr. Big Ps fame was so great that he could afford to tell his rich 
patients that there was nothing the matter with them. He knew little of 
the current medical literature, fearing that a knowledge of medicine would 
prejudice him in the treatment of his patients. 

He frequently cited an instance occurring in his early professional 
career in support of this belief. A child in his neighborhood got very sick. 
The parents sent for an eminent German physician. The latter proceeded 
to examine the child most thoroughly, beginning with the head and ending 
with the feet. 

The examination consumed two days. The child became no better. The 
parents expostulated with the physician ; he assured them that a diagnosis 
was imperative, and that the blood of the child demanded investigation. 

At this time, the impatient parents in the absence of the regular 
attendant called in Dr. Big I. The latter pronounced the case one of '‘stom- 
ach-ache/ ’ and without hesitation, prescribed paregoric, and the child got 
well. This was the beginning of his successful career. Dr. Big I would 
often say, that in about one case in a hundred was science of avail in the 


56 


THE PROFESSOR OF BACTERIOLOGY. 


treatment of patients, and he believed that it was not the disease, but the 
patient who demanded attention. 

Physicians should pleasantly occupy the patient’s mind to prevent it 
from interfering with the work of nature in the cure of their disease. 

One day, in the height of Dr. Big I’s fame, when his office was 
crowded with patients, many of whom were threatened with cure, before 
they could consult the great man, a book-agent entered his waiting-room. 
The latter in obedience to a tradition of questionable origin, sought the 
consultation-room ahead of all the patients. The book-agent kindly con- 
sented to consume about twenty dollars of the physician’s time in trying to 
sell him a work recently published, and entitled 

THE SCIENCE OF BACTERIOLOGY. 

Now, Dr. Big I knew very little, in fact nothing at all, about bacteriol- 
ogy. He had even lectured on the subject before the students of his col- 
lege. To quote his own language, “ he was remotely interested in bugs, 
and would, therefore, purchase the book/’ 

The book was conspicuously displayed in his elaborate book case for 
many months without being read. One day in a spirit of forgetfulness he 
consulted his extensive medical library. His eyes encountered the work on 
bacteriology. He read one page, and then he read another. He read a 
chapter. He forgot to respond to a call from a rich client who was very 
sick, and who in the meanwhile got well. He read way into the early hours 
of the morning until he had finished the book, and then Dr. Horatius Big 1 
was a changed man. 

He read of the well nigh universal distribution of bacteria or germs. 
He learned that they inhabited the water, the food we eat, and even luxu- 
riated in the soil beneath our feet. 

These ubiquitous germs were as plentiful as medical colleges, and with 
a pernicious tendency almost as intense. He learned how bacteria could 
abridge life, and by entering the human organism torture the host with all 
the viciousness of a successful surgeon trying to be gentle. 

It was soon remarked by every one, that Dr. Big I always avoided 
the conventional salutation of hand-shaking. Heretofore he had always 
greeted even his most casual acquaintances most cordially. The fact was, 
he became a confirmed bacteriophobe. One of his friends took him to task 
for refusing to accept his hand. He made no immediate reply to this 
charge, but taking from his pocket a glass tube containing a liquid resem- 
bling beef-tea, he gently scraped the hand of his friend with a little instru- 
ment, and at once introduced the latter into the contents of the tube. 

“ Now,” said Dr. Big I, “ this is the preliminary of an argument 
which 1 will demonstrate to you in three days, so please call at my office in 
that time.” 

Three days elapsed, and the friend presented himself. Dr. Big 1 
removed from an oven-like apparatus the same glass tube of three days 
before. ‘‘You see this tube, the liquid which it contains is no longer 
clear,” said the physician, “ it is cloudy. I wiil put a single drop under 


THE PROFESSOR OF BACTERIOLOGY. 


57 


the microscope— you observe that the single drop contains myriads of 
germs. Originally there were perhaps only a hundred of these germs on 
your hand, but they have multiplied many times by introducing them in a 
fluid suitable for their growth and propagation. If 1 had shaken your 
hand, l would have contaminated my own hand, and perhaps infected my- 
self, for remember, that the germs which may be innocuous to you may be 
truly dangerous to me.” * * 

This crucial demonstration gained Dr. Big 1 a proselyte to Bacterio- 
phobia. When Dr. Big I visited his patients he always wore a mask over 
his nose and mouth to prevent, he said, the germs of disease from entering 
his lungs. He had always been an affectionate husband. Now, all was 
changed. He greeted his wife no longer with the kiss which emphasized 
the poetry of love. When she remonstrated with him for his change of 
affection, he replied, “that deadly microbes lurked in the impracticable 
kiss. If we must, for the sake of conventionality suffer ourselves to 
indulge in the osculatory act, let it be with the mutual understanding that 
we use previously an antiseptic mouth wash.” 

His poor wife suffered this exaction, and nearly died from carbolic 
acid poisoning, because her husband had insisted on her using a solution 
almost pure. 

This tribute of affection was in time done away with, because it 
required too much time to disinfect the mouth, and time was now an im- 
portant desideratum to Dr. Big I in his slavish devotion to the study of 
bacteriology. ' 

When he retired at night, he tainted the atmosphere of his room to such 
an extent with antiseptics, that he was found in the morning, at least four 
times on different occasions, almost dead from asphyxiation. To prevent 
the germs of disease from contaminating his body, he wore a suit of 
absorbent cotton, which he believed filtered the air and prevented th e 
germs from reaching the body- He incased his feet in grotesque looking 
shoes made of antiseptic gauze to prevent contamination from the soil. His 
meals were of his own making. He employed sterilized dishes, which were 
previously washed in antiseptic solutions. If by accident, while at his 
meal, his hands came in contact with an article of furniture, he would at 
once immerse them in a strong solution of carbolic acid, which was always 
in readiness at his side. He would no longer examine his patients unless 
they consented during an examination to remain immersed in a bath of cor- 
rosive sublimate, or some other potent antiseptic solution. 

It was but natural for many of his patients to resent this mode of 
treatment, and so it came to pass that in time. Dr. Horatius Big I, the once 
distinguished Professor of Bacteriology, was without patients. 

Owing to his fear that germs might contaminate his food, his nourish- 
ment became reduced to a minimum, and he became reduced to a skeleton. 
There is a skeleton in every household. He was his own family skele- 
ton. The germ mania haunted him by night as well as day. He remained 
awake at night, lest the germ of insomnia should escape filtration through 
his filter, and thus enter his lungs. 


58 


THE PROFESSOR OF BACTERIOLOGY. 


His condition became deplorable. The expostulations of his friends 
and family were without avail. He had graduated from bacteriophobia and 
had become a bacteriomaniac. The medical society of which he was a 
distinguished member, appointed a committee (the chairman of which was 
Dr. Sartorius of the Antiseptic Club) to investigate his case. 

In due time the committee waited on him. They presented argument 
after argument in proving the falsity of Dr. Big l’s belief. Nearly all the 
germs, they argued, were absolutely harmless, and they even consented to 
swallow all the bacteria Dr. Big I had in his laboratory. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Dr. Big 1, “I appreciate the elegance of your dic- 
tion and the cogency of your sophistry. Microbes lurk everywhere ; they 
threaten us with destruction. I love my wife so dearly, that I dare not 
imperil her life or my own by the act of kissing. If I could be convinced, 
that there were no diseased germs in the kiss, I would consent to dispense 
with all the appurtenances which 1 employ in combating the deadly mi-, 
crobe.” 

“ If we could bring you proof,” said the members of the committee in 
unison, “that no death ever results (rom a kiss, will you be convinced ?” 

“1 will,” replied Dr. Big I, “but you must bring me proof at 
once, or otherwise I will depart for some high Alpine altitude where my 
friend Prof. Jerome Harris tells me there are no germs in the atmosphere.” 

The committee consented to conduct their investigations in the pres- 
ence of Dr. Big I in a large hall, engaged for the occasion. The next day, 
the good inhabitants of the metropolis were astounded to read in the morn- 
ing paper the following notice : 

“A committee composed of three physicians has been appointed by the 
County Medical Society, to investigate the bacteriology of kissing. With 
this object in view all lady applicants of scientific proclivities must present 
themselves at the town hall this afternoon between the hours of two and 
four. Applicants between the ages of sixteen and twenty-four preferred.” 

That afternoon, long before the time appointed, the streets leading to 
the town hall were densely packed with women of all ages, ranging from 
ten to ninety years of age. In the motley group one could note, the demure 
miss, the mature old maid, mothers, grandmothers — in fact every species 
of woman known to man. 

Never before in the history of the world, were devotees of science so 
clamorous for investigation. Within the town hall, the committee from the 
medical society, was anxiously awaiting the hour, when the investigation 
should begin. Tubes containing bouillon for growing the germs were sup- 
plied in abundance by Dr. Big I. 

The mode of procedure agreed upon was as follows : Immediately 
after the execution of the osculatory act, the lips of the recipient were to 
be scraped with a small instrument, and the latter to be at once immersed 
in the culture tube. When the time for the scientific experiment had 
arrived, one hundred applicants were admitted into the hall. The murmurs 
of discontent from the frantic women on the outside reached the ears of the 
committee, but as true devotees of science, they concerned themselves only 
with the work before them. The hundred women were apportioned into 
three groups, the maiden, the old maids and the matrons. 


THE PROFESSOR OF BACTERIOLOGY. 


59 


Discord at once arose among the committee as to whom should be 
assigned to the different groups. Lots were drawn, and by the usual perversity 
of fate the nonagenarian of the committee was assigned to the group of maid- 
ens, the sexagenarian member was assigned to the group of matrons, while 
the remaining member of the committee, Dr. Bullard, a young man, recog- 
nized as the Adonis of the profession, was assigned to the remaining group. 

When the result was announced by Dr. Big I, the matrons and' maid- 
ens filed indignantly out of the hall. 

Science recognizes no sentiment. Dr. Bullard knew this, and he forth- 
with began his work. He had not finished more than about a dozen of the 
group before Dr. Big I objected to the momentary duration of the kiss, it 
must be longer, otherwise no microbes could be transmitted. 

With desperation akin to madness, Dr. Bullard proceeded with his 
labor. Before three of the group had been disposed of. Dr. Bullard was 
seen to grow deadly pale and fell heavily to the floor. 

Dr. Big I seemed transported with joy. He saw that triumph was 
his, and that Dr. Bullard, even if he were not dead, was at least overcome 
with the severity of infection. 

Thus ended the work of the committee appointed by the medical soci- 
ety, which was a disappointment to every one with the exception of Dr. 
Big I and the women who had been kissed by Dr. Bullard. 

Dr. Big I returned to his home more than ever convinced of the cor- 
rectness of his v’ews. While he was making preparations to depart for 
some high Alpine altitude, there arrived in the city one of the leading alien- 
ists of the world. 

The latter was summoned to the home of Dr. Big 1, and after an ex- 
amination of his head, announced that by the removal of a small center in 
the brain lying quite superficially, he could cure Dr. Big I ; for beyond per- 
adventure of a doubt, he was a mentally sick man. 

This noted alienist said that the insanity from which Dr. Big I suffered 
was due to the too rapid growth of a certain brain center. If the growth 
were gradual and too much tension were not put on the delicate brain cells, 
a development would result, which would make the possessor a genius, but 
let the converse condition of things bear on the center, and the result was 
a lunatic. 

Three days after the removal of the brain center, Dr. Big I asked for 
his wife, and when the latter entered the room, he pressed a fervent kiss 
on her lips, and thus broke down the barrier which had so long separated 
him from the rational world. 

Dr. Big I rapidly acquired his former practice. He was now more than 
ever before fitted to practice medicine, for not only did he lose some of his 
brain matter, but he lost all knowledge of bacteriology, and thus having no 
knowledge to prevent disease the number of his patients increased, while 
those in the practice of other physicians who applied the doctrines of bac- 
teriology, proportionately decreased. 

Dr. Big 1 is happy, and so is Mrs. Big I, and while bacteriology has 
lost a patron, it has summoned to its threshold many healthy devotees who 
are building the fundament of the future state of medicine, The Prevention 
of Disease. 




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